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Veronica May Has Good News For Others With Bipolar Disorder
I have to make sure and stay alive. To experience what it's like to summit and stumble. For I have seen the spectrum. Like God holding hands with the devil. The very left hand of God touching euphoria and the very right hand of Satan clenching his fist around my lungs. I am so thankful that I am finally able to get all of this out of my head. It's been almost 6 months and no words. Flying from my finger tips like a humming birds wing pace. thank goodness for words. I love you and I hate you. I pull you toward me and I push you away, dear thoughts of mine.— January 6, 2012 8:20 p.m.
Veronica May Has Good News For Others With Bipolar Disorder
While I appreciate this article I wanted to give you the full-length piece I wrote recently. I did slowly get off of zyprexa...took about 4 months of titrating. Off it again...we will see how the second time goes! First thing that comes to my mind: Summer. Summer. When everything glows and the heavens open up to me. The more they open the further away I connect to the earth. Until the cord just isn't long enough. Like the 3rd string on my guitar, the one that always breaks. Just like that. I walk into the delusion as if I am walking from my hallway into my living room. One minute I'm here. The next minute I am in a different universe altogether. Colors are warmer, my heart beats at exactly 120 beats per minute, eyes widen, energy attracts to me like a button to it's adjacent slot on my light cardigan that I slowly shrink out of. The weight falls from me like a bomb drops from a plane. Destroying it's personalized ecosystem. After the destruction comes the clean up crew. Thank God for the clean up crew. 90 days pass and I'm back on my feet. Until the next bomb goes off. The ticking is always lurking somewhere deep in my beaten hippocampus. It takes over. My car. I'm the driver. My car. I'm the passenger. My car. Running over my brain. Running over my will for anything at all. It washes over me like a baptist baptism. Completely christened in the name of delusions, demons and the holy spirit. It hooks me like a crane. Like a scrappy, unfair fight. Coming from behind without warning. Lifting me above the tallest skyscrapers. The tallest Mountain. The highest cloud. Past the pearly gates and into white space. Then it drops me. It drops me from the sky, through the clouds, past the dirt where loved ones are buried, lower than the lowest crust of earth into the other side of the hemisphere. Out into the bottom of the universe, past hell into black space. So next time someone tells me I can control it. Mind over matter. Everyone has ups and downs. I will utter no words. It is incomprehensible to even myself. Because they never thought they were God. They never thought they were Jesus coming down for the second time. They never thought they were Michael Jackson reincarnated. They never thought they had to stab themselves so the ball of energy would be able to leak out somehow. Kill themselves to release the spirits of every person, every thing that ever was. Trapped inside one brittle skeletal system. They were never locked up. Tackled to the ground and pumped with sedation. Taken to the pits of the ward. So confused. Staying up all night paranoid that they were all coming to kill her. Hearing footsteps down the hall. Staff opening the door every hour on the hour, flashing a flashlight in my eyes to make sure I was still alive. To make sure we were all still alive.— January 6, 2012 8:20 p.m.