honestly, im part of the iPhone generation so to google things profusely is not strange to me. I google when I’m sick or if I’m having certain symptoms, I google advice and life hacks, I google a lot about ‘ways to get my life together’ and this morning, due to the guy who I’ve now been dating for about 7 months I google bipolar and relationships. As we begin to know each other for a longer period of time I realise he is going to be witnessing me dip and rise and make crazy irrational spontaneous desisions and sometimes it’s nice to read how other people deal with it. And Fuck me it’s a waste of time. I Fucking hate the term ‘bipolar’ new age teens just think it’s some new trend to jump on so mummy feels guilty and daddy knows he should have been around more: and the older generation just think your crazy. Albeit sometimes I am. And I’m seeing articles called ‘should bipolar people be in relationships’ ‘can I love someone with bipolar’ ‘how bipolar people think in a relationship’
toe punt you in the cunt what a load of bollocks.
I am not a page in a textbook. I am not the same as anyone else on this whole planet. We all are living our own journey with our own struggled and our own mind patterns. The ignorance that the internet is covered in is astonishing to me. It’s not easy living like this, so damn unstable always. Falling in love in days and having my heart ripped to shreds. No trust for anyone. Paranoia. Anxiety. The black cloud that sits over me most of the time. The exhaustion. The disinterest. The agitation.
can you imagine it? Because if you can’t maybe you shouldn’t be writing articles about it for cosmo
the world is looking brighter today. I feel that familiar feeling of butterflies creeping into my stomach as I ride home in the uber from your house. It’s been good to be around you the last few days and I want to thank you for just being but I bite my tounge because your not into that kind of outspoken love.
Like anyone with bipolar I have highs and lows and I can sense my low is beginning to ware off and I look at the city with different eyes. I have to go back to work today, 3 weeks off, and I’m anxious. I wish I could just lay in my bed and carry on how I’ve been but the thought of that makes me feel guilty so I eat lunch and prepare like I would any other day.
The guilt is sometimes the worst part, everyone keeps telling me ‘take small steps’ so not to dissapoint myself but my mind spins 1000 miles per hour as I think of all the things I should do when I’m wasting my time, clouds over my head. I need to go back to the gym, get training again, get strong. I need to carry on with my music because it’s truly all i have and it’s only my own vicious mind telling me to give up and find a new path in my life. I need to stop pushing away people who care for me and love me just because of my issues with abandonment and fear of loving too hard and being hurt again by the people around me.
i need to remember what I’m worth.
I put people so high on a pedistool And remember I can put myself up there too and I should.
i need to love myself inside and out and speak to myself as if I’m a child whom I love deeply.
I start therapy Friday in London and I’m excited, slightly despondent, but ready. Ready for a new beginning, to stop running city to city and country to country.
you cannot run from the daemons inside of you, only tame them and douse there fires with water and love.
and that is what I shall do, Friday, begin the process of oceans.
It seems as the episode begins to wear off the fog starts to clear and my feet are slowly gracing the ground again. I saw him tonight. The ‘realistic’ one. I’m so in awe of his demeanour, so able to float through life without a worry, always with a plan always knowing, never breaking. He compares me to my cracked iPhone screen as we sit across from each other in the pub. ‘Broken’ I say as I sip on my vodka soda. I stare at him deeply, more deeply than I’d like him to see, but I can’t stop it. I can’t help that whenever we are together I feel like I’m home. We throw insults at each other across the table and I laugh. I haven’t laughed in a while so the normally of it all makes my head spin. He has such beautiful eyes. ‘I’m not oil painting’ he’d always say and I scoff to myself because I’m almost certain he could be a Picasso, or a Matisse and then I’m unsure if they even paint with oils I just think he’s a work of art.
We met a while ago now, in a place far away where the air smells like salt and the sun never stops shining. But here back in dreary, grey England he is my sun. Lighting up my melancholy life with his dickie jeans and beanie hats.
He’s shaved I notice, I almost hate it when he does because I love the small triangle of hair that grows just below his bottom lip. My traveller boy, the one with the strong mind and strong grip. The one that holds me anchored to the earth as if when he leaves again I’ll just float away into nothingness.
But he has to go soon and I keep trying to convince myself to leave too, go somewhere else, somewhere warm where maybe I could find another him to cling to in his asbsence. To cling too until the day when maybe he decides he wants me.
I’d start from the beginning but if I’m honest I don’t have the time or patience to sit here and type out my long train of debris that I’d trekked through to get to this point. Sitting in my parents living room with a glass of wine that I won’t touch even though I just cracked the second bottle, watching tattoo fixers (what a load of shit) wondering how the fuck I got so fucking lonely.
They call this a major depressive episode, 2 weeks off work I take as I do absolutely nothing but attempt to stifle the nagging voice in the back of my head that tells me that A. I’m running out of time and B. I’m a useless piece of shit with no prospect of love anytime soon. ‘Here we go again’ I think as I feel the weight begins to shift in my body back to the 120kg barbell that I feel pressing on my chest. It seems no matter how strong I get I end up back here.
I’m getting older now and people aren’t as forgiving as they once were, not as understanding maybe. Friends, I hate to burden and lovers I don’t even bother to explain itwith fear I’ll be the crazy sad girl bad girl that I’m sure they think I am anyway due to my self destructive actions.
I made a conscious decision last weekend ‘no more drugs’ I tell myself as I lay in my best friends bed for 2 days wishing the ground would swallow me whole and rip me completely and irrevocably limb from limb, and leave me there just slightly more lifeless than I am now. This is something I’ve told myself before 100 times over probably more but as I get older that comedown doesn’t just last the next 2 days, it seeps over thick and black like tar into my day to day life nagging and breaking me until I finally can’t take it anymore and i shit down back into my safe space of my bed with Netflix and some form of toxic food that will inevitable just make me feel worse than I did before.
But alas I’ve said it now ‘No more drugs woman!’ And this time I think I meant it. The abs and flows of my constant mood swings are hard enough to control as it is without the tedious lack of serotonin and the exhaustion of my body attempting to replace it.
So I’m not sure what to do really. I’ve always enjoyed writing and living within my current crisis of feeling completely and totally alone in this vast crazy world I figured why the duck not just wrote shit shit down and see who else out there feels like this too.
Here comes the journey I guess.