My Bipolar Journal - Episode 225

My Bipolar Journal – Episode 225

December 24, 2008

I just wrote this really cheesy paragraph about love and Him and him. It was really cheesy though so I slit my throat a little and start over. I meant it, but I'm just not in the mood. Actually, I'm completely in the mood, but I'm not in the mood to write about it in that manner. Let's just say I've learned something new about myself and about love. I think that I'd rather say, "While you're being a faggot I'm going to explore this newfound love with someone else," well pending he wants to. I think he does though. Mostly I want to say, "You're being a faggot."

Best… Christmas… Eve… morning… EVER!

Yup, that just about sums it up.

My Bipolar Journal - Episode 224

My Bipolar Journal – Episode 224

December 17, 2008

I don't presume to know how you feel. I don't presume to know how anyone feels. I barely presume to know how I feel. Everyone wants me to relate and feel what they feel when I can't feel much of anything anymore. I feel less every day. Blah, blah, blah, who cares.

I talk in riddles. Maybe someday someone will put it all together. It will be long after I'm gone though.

People worry so much about death, people mourn it. I envy it. I don't envy what it leaves behind though. I don't envy the improbability of it. I'm sure that I will care about other people so much that I will allow myself to be completely and totally immersed in it before I am even allowed to partake in it.

I'm sorry people are so saddened by it. Maybe we're the ones missing out though. No one ever thinks about that though because it's so unknown. Maybe there's nothing after this, but sometimes… isn't that better?

Maybe not. Lord knows I say things out loud and suddenly I get troublesome calls and letters saying people are worried, but… I'm worried about people. People that want to stay in a world like this. It's just me. I'm not saying that you don't have to enjoy this.

Some people enjoyed high school. Some people enjoyed childhood. Some people enjoyed homelessness and drugs and being treated "badly" and having stories to tell about their awful life. Some people enjoyed having a story to tell at all. Some people enjoy their miserablness. I don't, but I live it for other people. I continue to hate everything for you. It's fine. I'm not going to give in because you'd think it was lame. It's the only opinion I care about because it's the only opinion people find painful. I wish I could find a way, but there isn't one.

All I know is that at the end of the day I don't know how you feel and that you think you know how I feel and could excuse it for some reason potentially smaller than anything you've gained, earned or entrusted in someone else. Doesn't matter. Here I sit all broken-hearted, tried to shit……

My Bipolar Journal - Episode 223

My Bipolar Journal – Episode 223

December 15, 2008

What’s so wrong with not being you? I guess it means I’m supposed to take medicine until I feel like you. I’ll interpret that as normal and then go put myself in some stupid box with the same stupid job and some stupid person who wants to make stupid little persons. I’d go get a piece of paper that would make me feel like I’ve now accomplished being just like you. I’d yell excitedly when people throw balls and catch them and get them into holes or over a line or between poles or in nets as it’s an actual accomplishment. And I would believe it were an accomplishment. I would stay in my box and when people did things like get in their cars and go to places I would be surprised. I would say things like, “I have to be up early in the morning” and “I’m getting old” and “Well, because you’re supposed to be in a relationship with me”! Everything would survive on the word supposed. You’re supposed to mow your lawn, you’re supposed to think kids are adorable, you’re supposed to go on vacation once a year, you’re supposed to have a bank account, you’re supposed to try very hard to live this life and be just like these people. I’d believe it makes me special and would take no time to feel if I were truly happy or truly content or truly special. I’d tell small lies that wouldn’t hurt people or I would tell lies that benefit me or I’d tell lies that make kids believe in Santa Claus but not Harry Potter, that it’s OK to live in Munchkinland but not Middle Earth. The only good sex for me would be sex in a committed relationship. Sex outside that relationship would be no good, not that I would even be able to find the time to have an “affair” outside of my busy schedule of picking up people, training them to be like me and keeping everyone else thinking that I’m normal by having a headache every night to avoid the only good sex I’m supposed to be having anyway. I would train my children to believe that they could be anyone they wanted to be and do anything they wanted to do as long as it didn’t involve promiscuous sex, drugs, incorrect religions, wrong jobs, not settling down and meeting the right man, being homeless, getting arrested, being gay, having tattoos or piercing or involving yourself with any of those people… well, unless they become a Good Samaritan and save their souls. I would eat yogurt every morning and eat things until I said, “After you eat it for a while it actually starts to taste good” all so I could live longer in a place I didn’t even like. I’d say things like, “That’s too much information” but then encourage others to learn as much as they can. I’d only eat turkey once a year and when I was done say, “I’m going on a diet as soon as it’s the new year”. I’d have a lot of friends with vaginas and we would get really excited about large building full of a bunch of smaller rooms that all sold the same things and say things like, “Oh, stop!” whenever we mentioned anything about our sex lives. I would think that things like a day at the spa were the most awesome gift from my children and rocks and metal were the best gifts one could ever receive from my husband. I’d complain about home when I was at work and complain about work when I was at home. I’d say, “Oh, I’m being so bad” when I have an ice cream cone.

I’m sure there are more things, but if ever approached… that’s exactly what’s wrong with being you. But that’s me and I’m not trying to make you be like me.

My Bipolar Journal - Episode 222

My Bipolar Journal – Episode 222

December 4, 2008

Ok, I really know I’m abusing them lately. It’s not intentional. If you are interested in good bands starting to write some crap (which so many of you apparently are) then you should write Amherst and tell them to not make me feel so good. And if you do, I will kick you in your penis… but to each their own.

Waste After You

By Amherst

Like a cannonball exploding nothing at all/flying recklessly awake but dead with passion/as my memory recalls, I recovered from each of my falls/trying hopelessly to sleep lies obsession/it’s inside you/close and brand new/will I bleed through while I chase after you?/I was knocking down walls so that we could feel tall/breathing blindly in sleep alive with patience/as the story evolves, we will suffer and crawl/making effort of defeat, we can dies in ashes

OK. Sorry. I love you guys and bring this song back because it’s great and it makes me smile in the sad way that everyone would like to be sad. You are amazing. You always make me smile. I’m happy to hear you and know you.

My Bipolar Journal - Episode 221

My Bipolar Journal – Episode 221
November 28, 2008

I sit in the tub though I’m taking a shower,
My skin’s shriveled up, has been for an hour,
I try not to think, I try not to move,
I imagine myself, from my life removed
I can’t breathe, I can’t activate, I’ve got nothing to prove

You’re in me, I feel you
Your hesitated breath
By the phone, with her or alone
Wishing it were me instead

But you’ve got no answers for what you did wrong
And I got so many questions and have all along
So I’ll sit here and wait
‘Til I drown in this rain
I’ll sit here until you call
With no regrets at all

I sit on this park bench, though it’s pouring down rain
My skin’s shriveled up, time hasn’t healed this pain
I try not to think, of my life that has past
How I waited so long, and not regretted the last
I can’t breathe, I can’t activate, I’ve got nothing to prove

You’re in me, I feel you
You stop my breath
By the phone, with her or alone
Wishing it were me instead

But you’ve got no answers for what you did wrong
And I’ve got so many questions and have all along
So I’ll sit here and wait
‘Til I drown in this rain
I’ll sit here until you call
With no regrets at all

I stand on this ledge knowing no one understands
That it’s not about pain, it’s that I’ve nowhere to land

You’re in me, I feel you
My breath is for you
By the phone, with her or alone
Wishing it were me instead

But you’ve got no answers for what you did wrong
And I’ve got so many questions and have all along
So I’ll sit here and wait
‘Til I drown in this rain
I’ll sit here until you call
With no regrets at all

My Bipolar Journal - Episode 220

My Bipolar Journal – Episode 220
November 25, 2008
Mirrored Room of Window Light
By Amherst

MIRRORED ROOM OF WINDOW
LIGHT/MIRRORED ROOM OF PERFECT
WHITE/TAKES MY MIND OFF ONE TRUE
LOVE/SHINE MUCH BRIGHTER IN THE
SUN/FOLLOW ME INTO THE
DARKNESS/TRUST MYSELF TO TRY MY
HARDEST/IT LEAVES ME OLDER
CHANGING DIFFERENTLY/DENY THE
HANDS THAT FORM YOU/THE PULSE THAT
WARMS YOU/BURN THE BRIDGE BELOW
YOU AND GIVE AWAY YOUR FUTURE/I’M
WASTING ALL MY TIME LEFT ALONE/I
HOPE I’M BETTER THAN THIS/MIRRORED
ROOM OF WINDOW LIGHT/BEND OR BREAK
OR SWALLOW ALL MY PRIDE/TAKE MY
TIME WITH ONE TRUE LOVE/SHINE MUCH
BRIGHTER ON THE SUN/FOLLOW ME INTO
THE DARKNESS/PAINT MYSELF AND WEAR
MY HEART OUT/IT LEAVES ME OLDER
CHANGING DIFFERENTLY/MAYDAY/ ALL
WE ARE, CONSTANT
DREAMERS/MAYDAY/SO DREAM YOUR
DREAMS IN VIVID COLOR/I KNOW I’M
BETTER THAN THIS/

My Bipolar Journal - Episode 219

My Bipolar Journal – Episode 219

November 23, 2008

He always leaves with so many questions, but there aren’t any answers. We both know there are no real answers. The answers are unimportant, unreal, a mere moment of terror for one of us and confusion for the other. I dread the moments I have to feel so stupid in front of people who will never understand it, but look forward to the moment that I immerse myself back into it in my entirety, as I always have. The next time I will do things better. More correctly than the last time I did them. I should have seen my fault. I did see my fault and I did nothing to stop it because I thought the inevitable “what if” would pull through. Here I sit though. Confused and broken hearted once more, but nearly as much as the last time. It’s insignificant. We will pull through. This is better than a few bumps in the road, even if the bumps tear things apart in an unnecessary and thoroughly impossible seeming way.

This is different and no one will ever believe me. No one will ever support me again, but I don’t need their support. I know better.

Next time will be different. Next time will be better and no one but me knows that there will be a next time.