Light and Darkness

10 Days

My 31st birthday is fast approaching. Next Sunday to be precise. Every anniversary of my birth forces me to examine my life. I really don't know how to look at getting older. I usually give some one the smart ass remark, "The further away from 16 the better off I am." There is much truth to the statement.

I haven't accomplished much as far as career or money. Far from it. I'm in a job that makes me miserably unhappy and financially, well...I'm broke. I haven't finished college and I'm single. If I examine my life any deeper for my faults, well, we will have an entry like the previous ones.

I'm definitely not where I want to be in life. And I see time quickly come and go. It frightens me that I may run out of it. But honestly, the further away from 16 the better off I am.

Two months before my 16th birthday, I found myself in a mental hospital. I was put there involuntarily because my family was a threat to me as I was to them, so I was told. And I was a very very depressed teenager. I spent my 16th birthday there and was released after Thanksgiving. Things went along until the following September when I tried to kill myself. That cost me a trip to the hospital again. That or my life...I'd say the hospital was the better of the two.

So..I've made strides. I have my dark days as you can tell from my posts. I'm not "actively suicidal" which means that I won't kill myself but my demons of thinking about death are very much real. I scare myself tremendously with how dark the thoughts get but I won't nor can I.

I have a child. She is already missing one parent in her life. And my drastic actions would only break my daughter into several fragile pieces that would never be a healthy, strong person.

So, I fight. And I will celebrate my 31st on 11.09. I still have so much more in my life to work on. I pray for strength. I pray for help. I pray for compassion. And I live.

sigh...

Can someone please tell me everything will be alright?

Why life?

This will probably be the straw the breaks the proverbial camel's back. I'll probably isolate myself from everyone even more than I have.

I feel so desparately alone and I don't know how much more of my life I can stand. Everywhere I look I see nothing good in my life. You may say comfortingly, "You have your daughter." BUT I look at her and I weep more. How can I be so selfish and drag an innocent into my life. I feel awful for putting my child through the hell that is me.

Noone knows how dead my heart feels. How much the pain hurts. The words people say to me are so goddamn patronizing and I feel worse for having even tried to relate. The joy in my life is always so fleeting. As quick as I've felt it, it's gone. And I'm left feeling worse for the ware.

How cruel God is. How cruel I've been to myself. I have no respite from this hell inside of me. I think how much easier death would be. Feeling no pain. Feeling no guilt for being me. Feeling nothing.

I'm tired of trying. I'm tired for fighting for myself. I'm so weak and trying to reach out to people hurts. I know it's selfish but I wish someone would fight for me instead of against.

But what do I know? I'm diseased. I'm broken. And I wish I were dead.

For you - My Stolen Moment

Carefully I remove myself from the groove of your arm. I unwillingly give up my warm space in the spoon of your body, and the shock of leaving that comfort wakens me quickly.

Quietly I sit beside you on the bed to watch the rhythmic up and down of your chest. The even flow of your breath in and out hypnotizes me and my eyes glaze over. Automatic and deliberately my heart beats in unison with your animated spirit.

The whispered sighs of your sleeping self catch me by surprise resulting in the swell of emotions rising from the depths of soul in tornado-like swiftness. My body sways to and fro like the faithful praying at temple.

The casual calm of your form stirs a wanton desire within me. The bacchanal impulse to drag you from your slumber builds and tests my ever-weakening restraint. But I let you sleep savoring this pregnant moment in the dark, which has tattooed itself on my skin..on my mind..on my heart.

With the faith of an aerial acrobat falling into the safety net below, I lay down in the crevices of your body. And I sleep.

(from 102703)

Gracías, Señora Armour

My senior year in high school I had Mrs. Armour for Spanish. I have to thank her for two reasons: (1) the amount of fun that one with a strange sense of humor can get into (imagine exhanging those candy hearts to your best gal pal with horrific spanish phrases among the incidents that involved me) and (2) the doorway to an important friendship.

Every student in a foreign language course was given the opportunity to become a penpal with students of other countries. I seized it with gusto. I became the American friend of three students, each from a different country. Two ceased to write me after the first letter. But Hristos (aka Christos) from Greece...he remains an important part of my life to this day.

We started our correspondence with handwritten letters. It was a shaky start with word of our lives coming in sporadic bursts. And at the beginning I got the impression from the first few letters that he didn't like me. And honestly this conceived a lackadaiscal attitude within me toward him. After a period of nothing between us, I contacted him and it sparked a relationship that is strong despite our distance.

To describe Hristos you can't leave out dedicated, loving, ambitious, intelligent, patient, and humble. We say that we are soul mates. Our relationship transcends the romantic definition of soul mate though. I feel at times he is my twin. He is Naomi as a man and I, a female Hristos.

He knows more about me than any other person in my life. I've kept a few secrets but those are for me alone. And amazingly I still suprise him with pieces of me (something as minor as discovering I have fish).

We've not met yet. The plane tickets alone would break both of us. Only phonecalls, emails, chats, and the occasional post have connected us. We challenge the boundaries of traditional friendship by maintaining this long distance tie. He is a constant in my thoughts. And despite the unconscious trials I have put him through over the last 12+ years, he is still with me.

So....Señora Armour, gracías. Mi amigo es muy importante en mi vida. Tengo Hristos y Hristos tiene Naomi.

Love

I want to love and be in love. FInd an amazing man to include in my life as well as be in his.

There's a fear in my heart of loving someone. Afraid of the pain I may feel if I lose a love. Afraid that I may drive him off with all of my hang-ups and idiosyncracies. Afraid the wrong man entering my life. Afraid of needing someone desparately. There is so much fear of love in my heart to love someone. So, I don't love.

I do love one person. I love my child unconditionally. That is a love that fills me and empties me in tears. It's a love that I'm afraid of losing.

Perhaps I never learned to love correctly. Love in my childhood house was never unconditional. There was always a twist.

Once I fell in love with a man. He was a good man but the love was not. And when I left him, I lost one of my closet friends. So that was a love that hurt me twice. My heart still aches for him at times.

We all want that all encompassing love. Someone to share our joys, sorrows, celebrations, fears, selves. We fear loneliness. We dread solitude.

I don't have a fairy-tale vision of love. I know it's more than Cinderella, as it should be. I don't want any one to rescue me. Nor do I want to be the rescuer.

I want a love that involves the simplicity of holding a hand. Buying groceries together. Warming each other beneath the covers. Passionate lovemaking. Asking him to check the mail. Watching him shave. Creating and raising a child. Comforting each other when a grandparent dies. Celebrating a birthday. Having an arguement. Kissing goodbye. Snuggling on the couch. Discussing opposite opinions. Saying "I love you".................

Sigh..

Where are you, love?

Wavering fingers

View image

Before I die, I'd like to...

Last month I started a list of things I'd like to do in life. Some are quite simple in nature and others will take time and money. I asked a friend if he had one and he said it was a morbid thing to do focusing on death. I disagree. It has nothing to do with death. It's life. What makes us happy. We're contortionists alot of times molding ourselves to fit into society, our families, the workplace...My list is a celebration of life. If my life ends tomorrow or when I'm 90, the list which I add to regularly are goals to strive for. Simple reminders of what truely makes me happy. And the date of accomplishment, a checkmark of completion.

just a few:

Before I die, I'd like to...get a tattoo (done 09.23.03), visit an accupunturist, parasail, visit NYC, go to Burning Man, work in a bookstore, fall in love, ride an overnight train, learn "Ave Maria," go camping, learn to make a carrot cake by heart, eat paella...

I have atheist-envy

My essence is my spirituality. I am a faith driven person. I live my life-moment to moment-in some spiritual relationship with God. God the male, the female, the deity. I know God as the creator. My omnipotent, omniscient creator. No definition true. All definitions limited.

But being human, I've put limitations on God. I want Him to save me. My religion has told me that if I do A and B then C will happen. He'll bless me with happiness. He'll help me through the pain. If I have undying, unwaivering devotion, then God true to form will hold me in His heavenly arms.

What a crock of shit!

I've done A. I've done B. I've done the whole fucking alphabet. But God is not here healing my heart and soul. But the piously devout will tell you it's my fault. I'll tell you it's my fault. I've not done enough. I don't believe with my whole self. I'm not saved.

The atheist is done. He's chosen not to believe. A true atheist has retired the whole subject. With all his depth he says God does not exist.

I wish I could have that definitive answer. My unconscious self believes in God. Nothing will wash away what God imprinted on my soul. And I'm unsettled. It would be easier to not believe in God. I wish I could. Erase religion and doctrine and my depth still says God exists.

And if (s)he(it) exists, what the hell am I doing wrong that I have no relief? No help? No salvation?

Damn religion for handicapping me and limiting my God

And damn the atheist. I wish I were you.

Foundation

I am a cradle-Catholic. My Filipina mother had me baptized a month after my birth. And she married a Catholic man. I had no choice but to be Catholic in my youth. I still recall the churchs we attended still had some of the mass in Latin. My parents weren't zealously devout (we didn't attend every day) but they were strict (I couldn't attend an evening Reconciliation class without dressing in Sunday best).

But as a child I didn't love my religion because I was made to. I loved it because I felt close to God. I felt holy. I would sit in the pews not paying attention to the homily. I would allow my eyes to go blank staring at the altar. I could see the heavenly lights emanating from the statues, the priest, the crucifix. I felt I was holding a secret, one so important.The history and ceremony of the Catholic Church only encouraged me to fantasize about my own importance in life.

As I got older, I questioned my importance more. I questioned God's importance. I questioned if Catholicism really explained my spirituality. So I stop going to church (and yes, truthfully...I was a bit lazy. You know how the teenage years can be).

But I was never without God. I yelled at Him. I cursed Him. I pled with Him. I asked His forgiveness. I always turned back to Him in joy and sorrow. And throughout my life I learned about other religion through school, people, my own reading to find a doctrine close to the one I had developed.

I don't wholly agree with any organized religion. I don't trust any of them. All of them were created by man professing to know God's will. Relgion is not God. Religion is a man-made institution. Fallible men with their fears, prejudices, questions. Affirmatively declaring you know God only makes God human and full of fault.

But I return time and time again to the Catholic church. Out of loyalty? Fear? Loneliness? Beauty? History?

The 2nd Crusade

It does feel like the bloody misguided battles of the Crusades, my life. There is always good intentions. Fighting for beliefs, causes, freedoms, etc; but somehow things always get twisted. Afterall, if two sides are fighting each other for their beliefs who should win?!

That's the tear in my soul. I have this portion of me, tiny as it is, that wants to live and be. Fight for my space on this earth. Give myself the goodness and fulfillment I deserve and grant to every other person. But the majority of my inner self hates who I am. Wants to destroy the rest of me. Make that last bit of my heart still alive black and heavy. Constant internal battle. I get very tired. Am very tired.

It's hard to explain. Everyone else sees something I don't see or feel. They see a competent, intelligent woman who has this magnetism. She has alot going for her. She's strong. Vibrant. Outgoing. Kind. She's a woman who has suffered through a lot that many people don't know about yet continues. She's a survivor.

I see a failure. A whiner. Delinquent in life. I feel like a damaged person who will never fit in.

Why can't I see the good? I want to but am uneasy in even thinking about it.

I am so alone. I want so much more. And I'm tired.

Happy Birthday, Murray!

Tomorrow is Murray's birthday. He is the appealing gentleman who is the author of PlanetThoughtful. He's a brilliant writer with a magnificent sense of humor, a great photographic eye, and a warm-hearted soul. If you visit his blog, you'll agree. And wish him a happy birthday while you're there.

Happy Birthday, Sir Murray!!

Secret dreams

Because of my upbringing ( which I'm not going to whine about now) and the complexities of my illness, I keep my desires quiet. I feel I don't deserve them or will never achieve them. My therapist tries to coax them out of me but I'm so scared to admit them. That well known knot writers speak of twists in my stomach. My hands fidget with my eyebrows. My eyes search heavenly for relief. My soul starts to cry and my body betrays me and follows. With tense lips and clouded eyes, I shake my head, avoid eye contact with her, and refuse to answer. Worse? I react so violently when I ask myself what would make me happy; what do I want to be when I grow up; what will my future be...

Why? Again, I feel I don't deserve such peace or happiness. No fulfillment. I degrade myself....and I'm afraid. Afraid you'll laugh at me. "Hah! You're not good enough. You're not talented enough. You're mean. You deserve nothing." Rationally, I know you won't but in my heart...

(Un)concentration

I haven't been able to concentrate. Words flit about in my mind like butterflies that I can't delicately grasp or maliciously seize. Just as I'm about to connect with that word that describes the animal that meows, it escapes. Simplest words leave me looking like a tourist stranded in the middle of a foreign country with my bloody dismembered arm in my hand rifling through an "English to whatever country I'm in" dictionary looking for the word "hospital" while the natives stare at me not comprehending and intially breaking in with "No English. No English."

Sigh....I've been manic the last few days. Nothing severe. I've only been testy, impatient, and somewhat...what's the word comparable to "You don't know what the hell you're talking about so I don't have time for you"? I can't concentrate and it's frustrating me. So...slowly I'm sinking into a mixed state of mania and depression. Boy, the emotional rollercoaster is going today.

Times like these I just want to put myself out of my misery. Perhaps a good drunken state will do.

Sex? Yes, please

If you're faint of heart, you may want to exit now.....

*whistling Andy Griffith theme whilst waiting for faint of heart to leave*

Ok, have they gone?!

Let's get to the topic on hand.

I am in need of a good rodgering. Those not familiar with the term. I need to have sex. Get laid. Do the ol' in-out. Dance the horizontal...ah yeah, I think I've driven the point home...so to speak.

Now, I'm an extremely sensual and sexual person. Even in a non-sexual situation, I tend to touch people. Just a touchy feely person. Tends to make some people uncomfortable. And in the 'bedroom' I'm a damn possessed woman. Problem I have is that I've abstained from intercourse for 7+ years. YES!!! 7+ YEARS!!!! I'm going a little batty. I'm not going to be dishonest and say that I've been completely celibate. I've had a few (and those have been few and mostly kissing) interludes of fun. The actual "deed" has been absent from my life. And I miss it!!!

I miss the smell of a man's skin. The warmth of his body. The sound of pleasure, Feeling of ecstasy. Sweet kisses, erotic caresses, nibbling explorations.

Sigh...ahem...RIGHT! Um, back to the point!

I'm loss without IT. I'm not a nymphomaniac but geez, a person can only go so long.

I think of an episode of Seinfeld that reminds me of my situation. George and Elaine abstain from sex I think because of a bet. George's IQ skyrockets because he's using the portions of his brain (all of it) usually dedicated to his obsession with sex. And Elaine gets...well, disorganized to put it politely. Elaine's boyfriend is an almost-doctor who can't pass the boards but when Elaine witholds sex, he can concentrate and finally passes after the umpteenth time with flying colors. Then he dumps her.

I feel like Elaine. Don't think I really need to elaborate. But if anyone knows of a man that can help a girl out....My phone number is 555-HNOP (help Naomi out please).

Poor Ginger Rogers

Fred Astaire has been given credit time and time again for being one of the greatest dancers. But everyone knows Ms. Rogers was better. She had to do everything he did but backwards.

I woke to the day in wonderful spirits. Actually, it was leftovers from yesterday's high-the natural kind. But then the music started and the dance began. Happiness took her steps back clinging gracefully to me, her partner. And we moved wistfully along the dance floor. Then Impatience tapped her shoulder. Moving to claim her space he stepped on her feet (he's a ungraceful clod of a Fred Astaire). All day long the two spun about with me. Depression cut in a few times. As well as Anger, Fear, Anxiety, Strength and Peace. I would say my dancing card is full.

Happiness is sitting in the corner right now tending to her poor toes cursing all the while. She's looking at us on the dancefloor muttering something about "dancing lessons for the whole lot." She's not giving up hope yet. She knows there's a few more songs before last call and she's determined to claim them. But I don't know if I can keep up. My legs feel like jelly.

The house that time forgot

Ok...I'm a horrible housekeeper. My house looks awful. And as I've told a few friends, not the pretentious, "Please don't look at the mess. I'm sorry. I haven't had time to clean." and you look around and can see that only a magazine is out of place on the neatly alphabetized magazine rack of solid oak that was found in an antique store awful. I mean my house is in such disarray that I will need a bulldozer, a backhoe, and a wench to clean it.

I tell people that if you want to know what emotional state I'm in, take a peek into my home (the car will do also). When I'm depressed or pissy, house looks like Dorothy's tornado swept in from Kansas just for little ol' me. When I'm happy-creative manic, I would probably be best described as perfectionist, OCD, anal.

I do hate messiness. I really am a perfectionist. BUT herein lies the problem. If I can't afford the time it takes to really clean something the way I want it cleaned, then it lays. That's why house is always dirty when I'm depressed. When I'm manic, I usually sleep less and have urges to have life in order.

But it irks my mother. She's more of a perfectionist than I am. She can't walk into anyone's house without cleaning something...even if it's the dishes. My family and I joke that Mom is coming to visit. You had better put things away. Reason-she and the garbage have a love affair. She indiscriminantly throws things away. Example: I borrowed her vacuum cleaner and when I returned it I forgot a part at my house. Later I moved and laid it aside so I could give it to her. She came to help pack the last little bit and threw it in the trash. I rescued the poor thing. "I didn't know" she replied to "That belongs to your vacuum." For this reason, she doesn't come over. Currently my filing system involves every bit of walking space and her zealous cleaning would leave me missing..well, everything.

But life has been sickeningly cheerful lately, so the house will be cleaned. I think when I'm done I'll move into one room. So when chaos returns, I'll just need the backhoe.

Crushes

I crush entirely too easy. I think it stems from enjoying people too much. They're so beautiful. So different from one another. People weaken my heart and my resolve to not fall in love so quickly and so easily...ah, those brief infatuations we endearingly call crushes.

I fell in love with a pianist at my college. Michael was astonishing. He spoke with such wonder in his voice...like liquid sunlight. And he played the piano with stunning grace and natural talent.

His person wasn't loud and never really called for attention but he had a way of drawing you in. His dark Scottish hair. His bespectacled open eyes. His musician hands. His glorious self....Sigh

I never expected to do anything about my crush on Michael. I enjoyed it entirely too much in my wonderings. The safe distance gave me hope. Allowed me to dream without reservation. I grew bolder in myself just feeling how he made my heart race in my breast. The slight inhale I always had when he first appeared in my day was intoxicating. My crush on Michael was exhilirating.

I think of Michael as well as my many other "loves". I want to find them and say hello. Feel that rush of blood, that blush throughout my body that only they can invoke. But I don't. Afterall, my current crushes may get jealous...

Words

I love words. I become infatuated with them as well as with the people who use them so passionately....so eloquently...so effectively. Great writers, whether known or not, make me drool (I would be the dip sitting in the corner of a recital blushing and smiling and drooling upon myself...don't mind me).

What are your favorite words? Sit and think a moment. A great exclamation bursting from your mouth in a profanity? (James Lipton of "The Actor's Studio" ends the episodes asking the actors their favorite curse word) Or a sensual word that rolls on your tongue before it glides over your lips? Perhaps that word with a gutteral growl?

I love: incessant, orgasmic, inherent, innate, prolific, benevolent, lucid, preguntas (spanish, questions), Lo siento (spanish, I'm sorry), ethereal, infinite, sensual, passionate, voluptuous, sexy, stupor, cadence, prose, ancient, cosmic, stellar, conundrum, epitome, epoxy, enigma, stoic, epiphany, chaos, derivative, sequential, zealot and zealous,'bloody hell', muck (as in 'don't muck with that' or 'muck about'), fuck (omigosh, a cuss word!), mea culpa (latin, acknowledging fault), paradigm, iris, traverse, transient, delectable, edible, adjacent, syllabic, theist and theism, deity, omniscient, omnipotence, linguist, lengua (spanish, tongue or language), ennui...and more and more and more....

Words influence us. They can remain with us from childhood. They can begin a war or a new romance. They express our love and anger, our thoughts and opinions, our history and future.

Declaration

I have the freedom to be me-
to fly a course not dictated by longitude and latitude
but by courage and fear....
to scream when frightened or angry
instead of mournfully staying silent.

I choose to be me-
during the ease of depression...
and the burdens of joy.

I can be noone but me-
for my self is drawn upward...
and my soul's release can only be honest.

Full Hunter's Moon

Tonight is a full moon. I'm sure I'm not alone when I say that a full moon is absolutely brilliant with mystery always accompanying.

Have any of you been blessed in seeing a moon rise? An amazingly beautiful and stunning sight. In my sophomore year of college, my friends and I were traipsing across the campus..probably to the planetarium or the soccer field to star gaze (no, that's not a euphemism for 'making out'...get your mind out of the gutter...hehehe).

The minister of the college (I attended a Methodist College...by the way, I'm Roman Catholic...go figure) was on his way somewhere when he passed me. We were deep in the obligatory 'hellos' and 'how are yous' when I glanced ahead of me...you'll find that I'm not graceful in step so looking to the sides while I walk can end in disastrous and painful moments. It was a momentary glance which suddenly made me stop and look with my whole self.

Directly in my sight's path was a full moon. It was a moment of absolute and divine Nirvana. I was filled with an overwhelming awe and felt I could have walked forward and touch the moon's surface. Hug its skin, lay my face against its soil, and glow in its heavenly light.

I became obsessed with it and raised my eyes regularly to the sky. It was brief; seeming to happen in a breath (perhaps I held mine during the moonrise) as it lifted itself high into the night. WOW!

Enjoy the full hunter's moon tonight. Curious about its name?

Unethical gossip

I'm pissed off. No other way to gracefully say it. I discovered that a few employees in the MEDICAL group in which I work have decided to discuss my health condition in the cafe of the medical building. Evidently I'm going to commit suicide and am such a harmful influence that I've convinced my friend to do it with me. Now, not only does stupid gossip piss me off royally but it's illegal to discuss a patient's health at any time...especially is such a public forum and in such a gross distortion of the truth.

I think I'm going to file a formal complaint. It aggravates me that this has happened. One of the women involved works in the business office where I am also employed.

NOT HAPPY!!! PISSED OFF!!!

So...needless to say that the gossip is going and going and going probably reaching the ears of my supervisors.

Hmphh!!!

Who I decide to discuss my personal matters with is entirely up to me. I have no issue with disclosing to the world that I'm bipolar. Hello, I've told the entire internet here. HOWEVER, if I don't invite you in...stay the hell out of something that doesn't concern you. Want to talk about me? I don't give a flying fuck! But be discreet about it. Be warned. DAMN!!!!

When I walk into a medical building as a patient, I have the same rights as any other patient NOT employed by the facility. I guess these women have forgotten what the HIPAA contract all employees including myself signed months and months ago.

Stirrings

Ever feel you've gone mad? Conscious of soul changing from its rational sane self to an incoherent mumble of emotion and thought? You can't comprehend so can't explain. I'm scared. Being bipolar is not euphoric happiness or hellish depression. HA! All emotions, memories, ideas..your being..scream for attention. Lucky? Same mood for days. Not? Swinging quickly in the branches of the emotional tree. Described as watching numerous, LOUD televisions of several channels. Try to make sense of any of it. All of it. I 'm a savior trying to save the world or a ravenous whore wanting to fulfill my cardinal need of another's skin (thankfully, I abstain...mostly). I'm the devil incarnate hating everyone. Trying to cap the rage and anger. Good days? I'm the creative churning out art, words, song (God, I love those days). Bad days are sinking into the Hades of depression with loss. Sometimes there's fear of remission. Do I lose the highs when the lows are conquered? Will Naomi die from the onslaught of drugs? Will I cease to be me? People are amazed when they discover I'm bipolar. "You're so normal and smart and do so well." Being intelligent or functioning does not equate to being mentally stable. We had Picasso, Hemingway, Woolf, Van Gogh, Plath (I'm not implying I'm as masterful as them). Life is a damn hard road. We push, shove and shy away from one another for fear. "Will they hurt or understand me? Am I alone feeling this lost?" We defend ourselves from loneliness. We go about with smiles not understanding that the person next to you is you in another's skin...trying to embrace the world and seek the answers of life...and if you're bipolar you feel either blessed-you empathize with your brethern or cursed-others seem to know the meaning of true happiness and left you out of the loop. But I muddle along. I'm addicted to this world of experiences and people. Inherent in our spirits, the need to connect. And I'm trying....each idyllic bipolar moment at a time.

Yet another October 8?

I cannot sleep. I'm exhausted. My eyes ache but I just cannot sleep. I've tried reading "East of Eden" by John Steinbeck (it's actually a good book and got 6 chapters done) but not what I want to do at the moment.

I have this need to talk..ok, maybe not talk. Maybe just purge. No. I definitely need to talk. Alas, noone to talk to at this hour. Friends in different states and countries are either sleeping, getting of work, going to work, etc etc etc. People here in Pcola..well, not available.

So, I ponder alone. Probably write in my hard journal for a bit. Maybe wait until my Greek love comes online for those few moments it takes for him to check his mail. But the 8 hour difference between us becomes too much for a sleepy brain to figure out timing so I'll probably give up on him and find something else to do.

I think I'll find the simplicity of AOL journalling inadequate for me. Guess it's time to educate myself on the elaborate complexities of blogging on a grander scale. (You'll soon discover simplicity is not my forte.)

Sigh....I need something to occupy my current moment of insomnia.

Damn, I'm tired.

I challenge the grime building on my heart.
Tearfully I wipe at the mildewed corners.
Angrily I scour at its toxic residue.
I cannot clean away the pain that has yellowed my soul.
Bleaching away the memories has failed.
I've lost my luster. The virgin white of my once porcelain spirit is soiled.
My dank interior decays beneath my insistent scrubbing
The wretched smells of my history always remain.
My smile masks that pungent smell that consistently remains.
-I have been pissed on!

(from 100703)

THE disease

The "disease" has struck my body hard today. I slept most of the sunlight away and allowed my impersonal self to answer the phone. I'm weak of body and spirit and that moment.

I'm bipolar. Obligatory stats: Officially diagnosed when I was 15 years old but I remember the "highs and lows" from early childhood. I was the moody child. Yes, I take my meds (the worse question in the world to ask a mentally ill person, by the way). I see my doc and therapist regularly. I work a full time job. I'm a single mother....And I survive.

True heroes of this world are the silent ones. Those people that overcome their personal adversities to live their daily lives to the fullest. They inspire others with their quiet ways. I'll be damned, but I wonder how they do it. Fernando Pessoa wrote "I envy all people, because I'm not them."

Ahhh..But don't allow my wandering thoughts bring you down. My life is a journey. My daily self changes. And I wake every day fighting for myself. I love what this world offers (mysteries are plentiful here) and i don't intend to leave without sampling a bit of everything.

"Before the beginning of great brilliance there must be chaos. Before a brilliant person begins something great, they must look foolish in the crowd." (I Ching)

And ladies and gentleman, this would be me....