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November

November. November. November.

This is the season of pain. The season of loss. The season of absolute agony.

This time of year. The depression is here. Depression; though comforting is cruel. She is truly a mistress of madness.

November is death. November remembers all that it has claimed.

This morning I could feel one more piece of my mind slip away from me. One more piece of happiness drift away like smoke in a damp sky. In it’s place is now another little black hole. My mind is covered with little black holes. All of the memories come back in November. My month of misery. It took me years and years to drink away the memories. In the process I took out the good ones to destroy the bad ones. Now just hundreds of little black holes. Soon I will be a black hole.

Will I survive this one? Will I collapse on myself like a dying star?

I am tired of pretending I am something I am not. Only one person knows me and only two people care. It is my own fault. My evasive lies and manipulative self expression are all false.

Who would want to see this? I have wasted too much energy hiding myself, masking myself and covering my tracks. Now I have no idea who I am.

But it is November. What will she claim this year? What will she rip from my spirit? What will she spit to the floor as she washes her hands of me?

Maybe she has come for my broken heart. My mind is filled with too many holes now. She will not accept it.

Will I survive as she rips my broken heart from my soul?

November, you cruel bitch you. How I have missed you.

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Signing Off

It is like a knife so I take a knife to my flesh and soul. Blood comes through the seams. The storm has past and I lay half dead and tired. God can have me now to send to hell. Go and take me God.

Take me GOD. Come and get me and send this unbaptized baby to HELL.

For I am lost in the madness of my mind.

I have lost.

Come get me God. For you must have the desire to send this bitch to the screaming ends of hell.

For all I have loved and lost you must judge me all the same and relinquish me to the minds of man.

I believed in YOU. Now you must come and get me. I am in the breath of madness.

Cut quick and clean. If I see tomorrow then we shall see if you are what they say you are.

I pray they are mistaken. I believed you were better than this. I believe in YOU. But the mind of man has taken you from my lips and now man’s word is pouring from your spirit.

So take me and my unbaptized, unloved, blasphemous soul. Take me to the pits of hell. I have seen the pits in my dreams. If you want me there then I go.

My God. Have mercy on my soul.

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Alone

The feeling of complete aloneness. It is so over bearing and crippling. I have just passed a manic phase and seem to be wandering into the depressive phase. It is most interesting to document this disease. This depression is a complete feeling of isolation and misunderstanding. Suicide? Nope.

Just the feeling of absent and quiet. Of tolerance and pain. Of nothingness and stillness.

I read today that we manics tend to be great artists. This I find funny, however, as of late I have found one.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Emilie_Autumn

This is of little importance. I am no great artist. I have no skill or defining ability. I am poor white trash with nothing to offer but a serious set of flaws and fat. I thought, I could make great on this…disease. But alas, no. Just a set of cuts on my wrist one month and a shopping spree the next.

Sometimes the thoughts of death as a release are comforting and necessary, sometimes they are crude and intolerable. I have no ability to know what I do. I can feel all the time, I am always feeling. But logic and rationality come every so often and at their own whim.

This aloneness. This horror of isolation. This multi-faced bitch in the mirror. This is me.

I can allow others to judge me and I pray that they do. As their perception of me passes fancy and creates a hole around me, they are validated that they are not flawed, I am validated that I am.

Dead things walk the edges of my mind as I wander through this misty place. Once my friend and companion, my mind is now unexplored and unforgiving. For lack of credit card and sun my mind has once again resorted to turning grey as the sky does this October. Now the excitement leaves and the silence sets in. Sweet, deadly silence.

Now as the season turns. I am alone. For the manic may come and go as it pleases, but only on a ticket. This is now the season of my depression. The aloneness coils around me like a blanket from hell.

I am here to greet her, my old friend. I feel safe in the dead of her loving embrace.