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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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Mom

Why did we part ways?

I am here. You are here.

Why do we divide?

There was Him. There was Robert.

Did we not live him?

Did you and I not coil around him like dunes eat water?

Did we not both beg of him for Enya and oysters?

Why did he leave?

Did we exhaust him so?

I would never believe that of him.

As we can never lay him down. I wonder if he always knew.

He stays silent in our dreams. Never speaking.

I wonder.

Is he binding us?

Did he always know?

If he had stayed would this be so?

Our life. Together.

Why does he not speak in our dreams?

You cannot return him to me. I cannot return him to you.

MOM?

Stay with me?

If we stick together we have a better chance.

You and me.

Stay with me. If you lose me then I lose you and we are both desert lost.

Stay with me. I will stay with you.

Maybe then he will talk to us again.

Take my hand and we will both go back to the desert. You and me. US. We will live in the dunes and dream of cats and wild things. Come with me. We are all that is left. We are desert bound.

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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.

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I Changed Me Bloggies

I have not written in this blog for many a month. It proves nothing other than I can never really see anything through, or even to a decent point in a timeline. It reminds me much of the doll reconstruction I was absolutely obsessed with for two months. Two months, new paints and Barbie heads (minus their manufacture paint and hair) littering the household. All of that research and passion for a new obsession simply added up to yet another project that will never be completed. The only good thing to come of the “I play with dollies” phase was the cats now have a lot of faceless, hairless heads to bat around the house. Good for kitties. Bad for me.

Upon reflection of this blasphemous blog I decided that my writing turned out not to be what I had thought or wanted it to be. Though my friends proclaimed to enjoy it, it simply was not it coming across as intended. I have a very deep spiritual side. But that is the only deep thing about me. My dream blog was to write about The One… I will go more into that later, I am to lazy to explain it now. Anyhow, instead of finding spiritual mastery, great meaning and an intimate relationship with the “great mystery” in my blog writing; I found a foul mouthed, sarcastic, control freak who really has either no clue of what is going on around her or too many clues that are confusing her.

I renamed the blog as such because I suffer from Bipolar Disorder (a mood disorder). If you want to know more about it, look it up, I am sick of talking about it. However, I have decided not to take medication for this very annoying mental illness. I think that my spiritual side may be just that, spirit, unseen, undefined. Hence only an ass like myself would choose to attempt to write about that. But this bipolar disorder… Well, this could be some fun. I tried to write a novel, I tried non fiction. Shit, these days I can’t even see to complete a Haiku. Perhaps a blog of my ups and downs might reveal a cure?

No. I think not. There is no cure. Maybe a cure is not meant to be. If I write honestly, I may be able to find a pattern to my disease and thus… Well, that really won’t help either but lets give it a try.

If you are reading this blog you will probably take nothing from it but please enjoy Royo’s beautiful artwork (or for some of you “hot chicks touching each other”).  I will keep posting them as my mood changes.