Solitude

There are times where I'd love nothing more than to run away. Not just from my everyday life, but from every thing and everyone. I think my perfect "oasis" would have two key elements: nature and books. Nature has always been a place of serenity for me. With all of its inherent chaos, nature has an order. In nature, a thing simply is what it is. One can be still and silent without the noise that comes with everyday life, and I like that. I often daydream of running away to a distant monastery, or the like, where I could spend my days meditating in nature by day, and reading by night. Read more...

I am taking my power back

The past three years have been incredibly difficult to me. As a result, I have been so terribly angry. Slowly, the anger has been consuming all of the light and love I had in my life. The sadness at the loss of a marriage, and so very much more, left me feeling overwrought, defeated, abandoned, afraid, unloved, and angry. With all I have endured in my life, I have always thought is a sign of my resilience, that I was able to not allow hatred to consume me. Yet, as of late, that is exactly what had been happening. No matter what the situation was, I could not enjoy it or be slightly happy because all I could feel was hatred. Read more...

The night I told

When I think back on being molested as a child, while the experiences were traumatic, the worst part of that aspect of my life was not being believed. Between my earliest memory of the sexual abuse, age 8, and when my mom gave me away to the foster system, age 13, I had been molested by four people: a male cousin, a male family friend, and two female family friends. Read more...

My Papa

Growing up as I did, I was a fearful child. To me, the world, my world, was a frightening place. I inhabited a space where the people who should have protected, loved, and advocated for me failed to do so. As such, it seemed all to plausible that people who had no such perceived obligation to me could and would take any opportunity to harm me. My nerves were a wreck, and it seemed I was in a habitual state of crisis. There was very little chance for me to have the ability to "just be." Read more...

Never to reconcile

My mom died on September 22, 2000 from breast cancer. Her death was not the end of the emotional roller-coaster that was our relationship. She died, and I was left never having had the ability to really understand her from her perspective. In times prior, after I became an adult, I tried to ask my mom why she didn't want me, but never got an answer. So, as I stood over her coffin, looking down on the one person in the world who's love and acceptance I craved more than any thing in this world, I knew I would never have it. She had always been lost to me, but now she was lost to me forever. Read More....

It's not what you think

I think the worst thing about depression is its "invisibility." Because other people can't "see" it, to them, it simply doesn't carry the same weight as other diseases. Unlike cancer or, say, having a missing limb, it is not something others can easily classify or understand. Most of the time, if I tell someone I am in a state of depression, they think I should "just snap out of it." I've been told to just be grateful for the life I have as if I am ungrateful for all of the wonderful things in my life. Yes, there are wonderful things in my life, but there are times when I simply cannot experience them because I can't stop crying. Read more...

Noise

I saw a meme which had the caption: "Men, if you want to know what a woman's mind is like, imagine a browser with 3,241 tabs open. All. The. Time." This meme resonated with my, not because I am a woman, but because that is what it feels like in my mind. There is not a minute of the day where I am not thinking. No matter what I am doing, I am likely thinking about several other unrelated or related things at the same time. One way I have been able to have respite from my "unquiet mind" is through practicing meditation, but even then, I have to, on several occasions bring myself back to focus. Read more...

Deep Darkness

The opposite of "Mania" is Depression. As "high" as I can feel when in a state of Mania, I can feel just as "low" when in a state of Depression. For me, depression brings a deep and abiding sense of despair. It is a place of utter darkness where light is too afraid to tread. In this place I feel as if the entire world is bearing down on me, and I can't breathe. Every second of the despair gnaws at my soul, and my spirit is so diminished it feels it will be extinguished. Read more...

It's not always bad..maybe

I am an intensely creative person, so much so that being creative I the only time I truly feel my life has any meaning. I express myself best through writing, but I love painting, crafting, beading, up-cycling old furniture, and so on. When I am feeling like the Grand Marshall of my parade, I can do anything! This is the "Mania" portion of of "Manic Depression." Read more...

My mother.

I grew up in a home where the motto was: "What happens in this house, stays in this house," and, boy, did a lot happen in my house. My mother had four children, three living. I am the only girl, and the oldest after the death of my oldest brother. (He died from Leukemia at 4 years old. He and I were the only two who had the same father. Being the only girl meant I was responsible for my younger brothers. Read more...

Introduction

For many years, I have been a writer. I can honestly say, writing, has on many occasions saved my life. During the times I wasn't allowed a voice, had no voice, and could not give voice to the pain, trauma, anger, sadness, and despair of my life, I wrote. I have kept a journal for as long as I can remember, and through the years, I have managed to save most of them. I was a lonely child. Abused and overlooked, my only outlet for the chaos in my life was to write. As such, I often found myself weeping in ink onto paper. Pouring all of my hurt, grieve, and loss onto the lined pages of journals. No one else cared to hear my story; after all, children were to be "seen and not heard." And so, over time, I could only share my pain within those pages. Having grown up damaged, I developed a deep and abiding sadness; a sorrow, that even still, I am scarcely able to give voice to outside of the written word. I am now an adult. I am a mother. No longer married. I am a person who is trying to heal from the trauma of my life, and create a new one in which I am able to thrive. I am kind. I am generous. I am strong. I am weak. I am Bipolar. Manic depression has been a large part of my existence on this plane for some time. I don't quite feel things like others do. I feel things deeply; good and bad. My "highs" are phenomenal, and I never want them to end. My "lows" are devastating, and I can barely "hold on" for them to end. This is me. This is my story. This is my trying explain me to a world that often frightens, overwhelms, and misunderstands me. Welcome to my Manic Depressive Parade. PS