Call me nuts that’s okay as they say a nut a day keeps the insane sane. My behavior shows a level of difference for I am not the same as all of you. It’s in the mind, my mind running thousand miles a minute shuffling through every idea analyzing every thought. It takes me time to catch up but don’t worry I will catch up. In this world my nuttiness is normal, here in this world everything I do makes sense. It’s only when I’m around this table do I see the dark. My soul is intact, my verbal skills doesn’t lack the need to be expressive. All my senses are alive and well thank you for asking. I’m not sure if it’s the meds or just a good day but what ever this is I hope it stays. I enjoy the feeling of controlled nuttiness.
Twenty-nineteen started with an uncertainty I had no idea of what’s to come but I spent the last few weeks of twenty-eighteen stressing about it. I don’t know why but I have this sick obsession of trying to control the future. I worry about things and events that haven’t happened yet. The anxiety is quite overwhelming but what makes this worse is that I put myself in this position. I willingly make myself go nuts trying to control something that is uncontrollable.
They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder and yet as I stand here looking at the mess in the mirror I beg to differ. I’m not a beauty nor do I feel pretty. What I see is quite the opposite. I see ugly, useless, dirty person with no future. I wish I can be pretty, as pretty as the actress that grace the silver screen. I wish I can be pretty, as pretty as those models who are splashed on the cover of sports magazines. I wish I can be pretty, as pretty as the girl sitting across from me on the bus. I wish I had better eyes to see what you see a beautiful girl.
This short was inspired by group of ten-year olds grade school girls self-discovery in a world that values beauty over substance. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder if you tell yourself you are then it will be. Be sure to tell your little beauties they are beautiful, pretty, smart and loved.
Just recently a really good friend of mine well more like a champion informed me that our thirty year high school reunion is happening this August. He asked if I was plan on going. I paused then responded with I don’t know. It’s always difficult task going back to high school. I can imagine it’s a tough time for most but for me it was my living hell nightmarish prison that I thought I would never escape. The anxiety of getting to school was a nightmare. I spent four years with a bunch of miserable assholes who pride themselves on being assholes becoming the target of many vicious attacks. My four years were spent dodging bullets, ducking hand grenades and digging deep trenches to hide in. Why on earth would I want to volunteer to spend one evening reliving that?
Mommy please take my hand, hold it tight. I’m scared I won’t live through the night. These voices speak to me tell me to do things I don’t want to do. Their force, the powerful voices commends me to tell you this truth. I don’t want to live anymore. My behavior has caused so much pain. I don’t want you to cry anymore, but these powerful voices I can’t ignore anymore. If you can just sleep here tonight and hold me tight maybe they will go away.
I sit here in my favorite red chair drinking my blueberry coffee from my favorite cup staring out the open window as the cool breeze hit my face, my thoughts speaking to me what seem to be in foreign languages. Trying to control and pin down my thinking is a process that is hard especially when my thoughts are all over the place. Sometimes I fear I’m losing grip on reality my mind is playing the ultimate role head-lining act of some cornball carnival,the main attraction of some freakish side-show.
“Ladies and Gents step right up to this here attraction watch how this manic-depressive handles a meltdown.“
Today I’m feeling a bit blah. Not sad but not quite happy either. I’m in between the two. I call this stage of my manic depression “the blah factor.” It’s a numbing feeling. I don’t care about things as much as I should when I visit this stage. Having a mental disorder you’re on a constant roller coast ride up and down back and forth its rare your able to get off.
“You knock me out like a wrecking crew I’m back on my feet and all over you Faster than I’ve ever been before”
Hello all you mistresses and masters of words, it’s Friday and I’m still feeling the pressure from my Chum and his buddies. This week has been brutal. I’m still reeling from my meltdown and now I’m getting pressure from work. This co-worker is notorious for doing this to me. He waits until the last possible minute then gives me work saying he needs ASAP. That’s the thing about working at this firm they don’t teach you anything it’s a crash and burn situation.
Today I feel the weight of the world crashing down on me like a ton of bricks. This heaviness is like an underdog wrestler pinning down an opponent winning the match. Unlike the wrestler, this is a match I won’t win today. This weight slowly grows & morphing into an uncontrollable desperation. Some days this desperation is far off in the distant allowing me tiny bit of joy but today this desperation I often refer to as “my chum” is here to stay.
My big brother, so gentle, so kind taught me how to ride a bike zoom, zoom flying down the big hill we go. My big brother, so lovable, so wise taught me how to count 1,2,3,4,5. My big brother so fun, so sweet he sits next to me when I am sick reading to me my favorite book so neat. My big brother, so warm, so endearing loves to give big hugs squeezing tightly like a bear hugging a tree ugh I can’t breathe. One day my big brother stopped being so gentle, so kind. He stopped being so lovable, so wise. The big brother I come to know the one who taught me all I know cease to exist.