Flux-Bipolar Jump Start

28 Jul


I’m in flux-continual, bleeding flux. I’m here, I’m over there, I’m somewhere else, someone else. BOO! I’m new now.

I’m frustrating as all get out. Imagine waking up next to this everyday.


initial periods of cycling may begin with an environmental stressor, but if the cycles continue or occur unchecked, the brain becomes kindled or sensitized – pathways inside the central nervous system are reinforced so to speak – and future episodes of depression, hypomania, or mania will occur by themselves (independently of an outside stimulus), with greater and greater frequency.

Once, long ago, someone liked to touch me. And take pictures. Have his friend help out.  Somewhere in there, I do believe my brain split into a million sprinkled, but real, pieces, and reassembled. A little off, like it was put through a broken transporter. Then my mother was sick. And sick and sick and sick then dead and all that was left was a fake boob and a wig, pieces of someone I called mom.

Even a heart stops working after too many shocks I assume?


My rage can burn intense-forests crumble within me, towers fall to the ground as I sit swept through a maelstrom. I see red. Blood. Death. Hell. Life moves on.


Fickle? Meet my present listing. What’s good for now I won’t understand later. My passion for anything is usually underwhelmed by my apathy and ability to change minute to minute to minute. Or perhaps I am Mercury-a charming, raffish thief, poison, sweet pretty poison.


When I started writing this about 15 minutes ago, I was drawn by a desire to help you understand, to explain, to be another place for a new bipolar to land. Now-I’m tired, Josh Homme is on my TV watching some chick eat raw meat, and I’m tired. I have no interest in trying to teach you anymore. My desire is vapid, mean and fleeting. (Aside for the desire to own Hot Fuzz-I love those boys)


I might not be fixable. The damage may already be done. They don’t know what works, why it works, why some people get better more than others. THEY don’t know. I may spend the rest of my life getting fatter and fatter in a quest for the holy grail of psychiatric drugs. And they still won’t find it.


Is it desirable to be 300 pounds and “better”? 300 pounds and sick? What if nothing gets better-what if I’m a waste of air forever? taking up too much space with an ass that’s too big, with feet that fit nothing I can find, with lips that can’t seem to wrap themselves around the things that really need to be said? I wouldn’t desire any of this-I would run as fast and as far away from me as I possible could.

But I’m a coward after all anyway.


I still spend my days convinced in my quiet hidden paranoia that I will be fired, that they’re counting up the offences and lying in wait for me. I am nothing. I am useless-I contribute nothing. I stare at my screen at work and listen to the conversations flow around me, the worlds I am not included in.

I don’t mourn it. why would I? I have this world of my own, as much as I cannot incorporate it into the rest of my life. But it’s mine at the very least.

ultimately, a killer

Not only is my chance of succeeding in killing myself 10-20% higher than gen pop, but there’s also expanding evidence connecting physical ailments that kill to bipolar. So I’m screwed from the outset aren’t I.

It doesn’t matter much what I do. The future in some ways, is laid in stone-salt and acid in from of my feet.

8 Responses to “Flux-Bipolar Jump Start”

  1. sweetsalty kate July 28, 2007 at 10:48 pm #

    You know what sucks to say, and perhaps also to hear? If I were your real-life friend and we were out for suds or such and if you told me about someone in your life saying these things to you, I’d be enraged on your behalf. I’d tell you to DTMFA, because you can’t let this toxic jerk demoralize you any more.

    Once again I’m your resident pollyanna, but everyone needs at least one. This is just the view from where I sit, and I like you enough to risk sharing it with you.

  2. Magdalena July 28, 2007 at 11:44 pm #

    You know, you sound like Anne Sexton or Sylvia Plath. The scariest part is that Sylvia killed herself and Anne was jealous of Sylvia for having the nerve to do what she had always fantasized about.
    I’m not saying that to sensationalize your writing or to crawl up your ass in some morbid way. I ‘m saying it because your writing has a certain wang to it, the way you can tell an avacado is ripe when you sqeeze it. You just know. There are elements present in the way you write that scare me because you scrape the bottom where most people don’t dare go .
    Maybe I shouldn’t be so afraid. Maybe I should be happy for you that you can access those thoughts.

  3. karriew July 28, 2007 at 11:50 pm #

    Magdalena makes some excellent points–very articulate, unlike my very brain dead self at the moment. You don’t scare me, and your writing does not scare me though I sometimes have no idea what to say since I cannot really relate to the highs and lows, and I know you have a highly refined bullshit detector.

    I just wish I could kick some ass on your behalf, and hate that you’re struggling.

  4. Marcy July 29, 2007 at 9:02 am #

    Sometimes I am afraid on your behalf. Because we know that some people actually do kill themselves or do other things you’re afraid of doing.

    On the other hand, I think your writing and your cyber support team are two very powerful deterrents / redirectors of those fearful urges.

    Most of all, what you do DOES matter. It may or may not change anything or have tangible results or products. But it DOES matter.

    You are there, and you matter. The messed up bits of your brain certainly mess things up, but they don’t destroy you or control you in any ultimate way. You are still there, and you still shine out.

    And I am so sorry for the things that have hurt you, and I continue to pray for your healing and peace.

  5. thordora July 29, 2007 at 9:11 am #

    It’s like I cannot work it all out, regardless of how many times I write it out or talk about it. It’s still a mess i can’t get any clarity through. And when they ask how I’m feeling, or if I’m normal, I don’t know! Or my knee jerk reaction of lasping into hypomania when I need to be around people happens, and screws things up.

    Bah. As I say at least once a week-Im just tired of everything being so bloody hard! I have trouble controlling my weight, my spending, my anger-I have trouble controlling. And it’s frustrating in a world that tells me I’m lazy and useless and less than them because I cannot fix myself.

    I constantly feel like I need to prove that.

    But yeah, having a group of people around me online helps. A LOT. Because at the very least, you try to understand.

  6. Marcy July 29, 2007 at 5:20 pm #

    Your first sentence in that comment reminded me of something. There have definitely been times in my life when writing something out, however long it took, was helpful, productive, worth the effort, even when it hurt. But there have also been times when the best response to a mess was to live through it without analysis — reflection, recording, noticing, articulating, yes, but not picking it apart or trying to understand it. And I think there have even been times when just experiencing — without words, records, articulation of any kind — was the best response.

    If this is such a time, I wish you the power to express the anger, let the hardness in and through, and let go of fruitless analysis.

    If it’s the other kind of time, I wish you the catharsis of finding the right words, laying hold of the right insights.

  7. Marcy July 29, 2007 at 5:24 pm #

    I just figured out what I was trying to say. I have a tendency to go to war against reality. It SHOULD be a certain way, it should NOT be this other way. While it’s good to recognize and be angry about things that are not as they should be, it’s not helpful to resist the fact that things are what they are — at this moment, anyway. Sometimes I can work to change something, but before I can I have to accept that right now it is what it is.

  8. missy July 30, 2007 at 11:13 am #

    Fuck. I just don’t know WHAT to say.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: