Pills to Poetry: The Burden of Non-Compliance

The conversation between my wife and I when I don’t want to comply with medication or sleep. A bipolar dilemma. A caregiver’s burden.

Pills heart

~The Burden That No One Sees ~

“It’s late.” She’s barely awake, squinting.
“I’m not tired”, I tell her, and continue working.
“That’s the point”, she says under her breath.
“What’s the point?” I’m lost.
“With your condition…” she’s exhausted. I’m making it worse.
“Seriously I’m fine.” I insist.
“Take your meds.” She isn’t giving up.
“I’m not tired”, I say.
“You have a big day tomorrow.” She’s more patient than I deserve.
“I know. But I’m wide awake.” I continue working.
“That’s the problem.” Her face is pretty, even half asleep.
“What’s the problem?” I’m lost still.
“You’re getting manic.” Her tone is serious.
“Not manic. I’m just really busy. It’s a project…”
“It’s 2am”, she informs me.
“Okay. In thirty minutes I will.”
“No. Take them now.”
“Fuck. Okay. Fine.”
The bedroom door closes behind her as I pour a handful of perfect little pharmasanity shapes from the burnt orange, child-proof bottle. I choke them down with a large swig of beer. She hates when I do that but does not complain because at least I’m taking the goddamned medication.

pills heartt

After a week or so of these types of conversations, she usually ends up putting me on a bedtime schedule with a tight ritual involving complying with meds. Because I love my wife and trust her, I often go with it. Well, okay, I put up a fight half the time, which occasionally puts her in the position to give me ultimatums. This is love. This is bipolar disorder. This is a bipolar marriage. And I still fucking hate taking pills.

Alter Ego: A Poem About Piper, a.k.a. Manic Delusions

Alter Ego

Hey there siren, hey there again.
Without warning, how long has it been?

Hey there wild one, hey there storm.
Untamed whispers, in seamless form.

Hey there you, hey there Miss Thing.
Complete invasion, the chaos you bring.

She wears me out,
She breaks me down.
When Piper calls,
I come around.
She lures me in,
Without a sound.
I lust for her,
And we are bound.

Hey there lil nympho, hey there alright.
Pheromone syrup, smothered all night.

Hey there electricity, hey there alive.
Inexpressible hype, off the high dive.

Hey there obsession, hey there crave.
Euphoria spree, you won’t ever behave.

She wears me out,
She breaks me down.
When Piper calls,
I come around.
She lures me in,
Without a sound.
I lust for her,
And we are bound.

Hey there liberty, hey there Queen Bee.
Envied butterfly, perpetual and free.

Hey there persuasion, hey there yearn.
Thick addiction, never to learn.

Hey there enigma, hey there silhouette.
Delicious delusion, you’ll soon regret.

She wears me out,
She breaks me down.
When Piper calls,
I come around.
She lures me in,
Without a sound.
I lust for her,
And we are bound.

Piper

When my Bipolar Starts Speaking in Rhymes

Sometimes I feel a little needy,
But I’d never let it show.
To quench my thirst makes me seem greedy,
I guess you’re not the last to know.

I’m trying not to get stoned,
And I really want a drink.
Well, at least just for tonight,
I’m trying not to think.

Bipolar pills mouth

My free spirit has been building high,
Tattooed wings inside a cage.
I smuggle sunshine in my mind,
And shove the blame on manic rage.

I’ll try not to get too stoned,
And I want a second drink.
Well, at least just for tonight,
I’m trying not to think.

Desperate urges send electric shocks,
Pharmaceutical relief.
I contain my soul inside a box,
Swallow them with no release.

I’m already way beyond stoned,
And I regret that other drink.
Well, at least just for tonight,
It’s impossible to think.

For Shits and Giggles, I Now Have a Tumblr

Because two WordPress blogs weren’t enough. Because a Facebook blog page, a personal Facebook, an Instagram, Pinterest, and two Twitter accounts simply weren’t enough. You can now find my crazy self on Tumblr as The Bipolar Lesbian.

My purpose for creating this mini blog is pure simplicity, all the while combining two parts of myself- my sexual orientation and my mental illness. I plan to showcase media such as photos, gifs, videos, and music. I also want to make this a designated space for my poetry, which I will be pouring more of myself into here in the future.

Tumblr has been around for a little while now, but is growing at an increasingly fast rate. If you have a Tumblr account, or are interested, I recommend checking out my baby blog. I want to have fun with it and with an audience, I can deliver just that!

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It Went Too Fast, Love – a poem about heartbreak

If I could, I really would
Catch every tear that fell.
Though I know I really should
Accept that time will tell.

It was a lost cause,
But you’re not lost, love.
It was a past love,
It went too fast, love.

I imagine her expression,
As she quickly shut the door.
All too clear was her rejection.
I clean the pieces from the floor.

Strawberries fragrant in the air,
Strawberry scented, like her hair.

Tire tracks provide evidence,
Matching tread marks on my heart.
Spinning sick, it makes no sense.
There came an end before a start.

It was a lost cause,
But you’re not lost, love.
It was a past love,
It went too fast, love.

Her fingerprints left in the dust,
Silky strands clogged in the drain.
That skin was more than glowing lust,
Her ideals around this room remain.

Strawberries fragrant in the air,
Strawberry scented, like her hair.

Need an intervention of the soul.
May I have the will to dream?
Once was fire, now burned a hole.
Is this as broken as it seems?

It was a lost cause,
But you’re not lost, love.
It was a past love,
It went too fast, love.

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My Insecurities Have Insecurities, a poem

Her name is envy, and I water her with her praise.
She depletes me of my passion with her charismatic ways.
My green-eyed goddess is introspectively corrupt.
Yet she triggers the deepest fire, fighting to erupt.

Motivation, situation, inspirational attack.
Sheer ambition, meditation, intuition that I lack.

My game is wilted, and I feed my own revolt.
Therapy and drugs leave me grasping in the cold.
My domestic bliss is superstitiously corrupt.
Clawing to escape the deepest fire, fighting to erupt.

Motivation, situation, inspirational attack.
Sheer ambition, meditation, intuition that I lack.

The shame has surfaced, and I hide from the very truth.
I don’t satisfy my convention so I pacify and soothe.
My aspiring lust for life doesn’t seem so corrupt.
Self-induced rage is the deepest fire, fighting to erupt.

Motivation, situation, inspirational attack.
Sheer ambition, meditation, intuition that I lack.

That blame is distended to all the other girls.
A lack of confidence wreaking havoc in my world.
My insecurities fully weighted and corrupt.
Sabotage destruction of the deepest fire, fighting to erupt.

Motivation, situation, inspirational attack.
Sheer ambition, meditation, intuition that I lack.

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“Of Two Minds”, Bipolar Documentary Review

I recently watched the 2012 bipolar disorder documentary, “Of Two Minds”, written and directed by Doug Bush and Lisa Klein. The film features the gripping real-life tales of every day Americans living with bipolar disorder.

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Take a candid view into the lives of people who have been through the perils of extreme ups and downs, succumbing to the enticing world of mania, as well as the empty world of depression. A heavy topic that seemed to be an underlying theme throughout the film is suicide. Almost all of those interviewed had either considered or attempted suicide at some point. I found it to be heartfelt and completely relateable. If you watch the film, I’d be aware of potential trigger warnings, however, for the ideals of suicide appeared to be slightly romanticized at times.

Other topics that were explored include mania, psychosis, depression, interpersonal relationships, family members, professional life, and forms of treatment. I won’t talk about all of them, but I do want to mention how refreshing it was to hear stories of success, and by success I mean every day ‘normal’ living. Also I do feel a little less crazy with my own psychosis and hypersexuality.

Overall I thought the film was nicely done and covered all bases of bipolar disorder without being too clinical. It was compelling in the sense of getting to know each of the brave individuals who bared their souls and allowed the audience inside. I recommend this documentary to those diagnosed with bipolar, loved ones of bipolar folks, students, and mental health professionals. Or anyone just curious about the realities of living with bipolar disorder.

Links:

http://www.oftwomindsmovie.com/

http://www.bipolaradvantage.com/index.php

 

Nothing But A Vision, A Poem

If I could re-dream a dream, it would be the one where she asked me about my attractiveness.
And that sensation in the pit of my gut when she balked at my modest “I’m average, I guess”.
For she continued to adore in an awe-struck manner, eloquently, dominantly, decidedly.
She brought out the sheepish in me, complimented by none other than shock and brutal flattery.
She isn’t real. None of it was real. It was nothing but a vision, a stroke of my imagination.
 
How often can I dream?
Every day or every night?
What all does it mean?
Is it false or is it right?
 
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If I could re-direct my direction, I would have never been in the position to spend the night.
And that blow to the hollow of my gut when she cried at my frantic “I’m sorry, I swear”.
For the scene continued in a tension-filled manner heartbreakingly, desperately, recklessly.
She brought out the remorse in me, complimented by none other than shame and tender injury.
She isn’t real. None of it was real. It was nothing but a vision, a stroke of my imagination.
 
How often do I scream?
Every day or every night?
What all does it mean?
Is it false or is it right?
 
If I could re-emerge an existence, it would be fluid and the inventor of charismatic overdrive.
And that warmth that rushes my gut when she notices my assertive, “I’m happy, I’m me”.
For I endorsed a promise in me, to re-birth in a manner so gracefully, graciously, remarkably.
She brought out the risk in me, complimented by none other than force and sincere approval.
She isn’t real. None of it was real. It was nothing but a vision, a stroke of my imagination.
 
How often does it seem?
Every day or every night?
What all does it mean?
It can’t be false if it seems right.

When Boredom Makes You Lose It

Blasé, bored, mundane. 
Everyday the same.
 
I think I’ll go insane.
But just myself to blame.
 
Sugar dripping in the rain.
Porcelain robot I became.
 
Stimulate a thirsty brain.
Force fed back into the game.
 
Trading glitter for cocaine.
Imagination taking aim.
 
Disenchanted I sustain.
Listless hours ought to shame.
 
Unamused, dried to pain.
Chaos spikes a dull mind-frame.
 
Boredom has me on a chain.
Slaving to a world so tame.

 

Purge – a really intense poem

I check my pulse to see if I’m still living
In the spillway to the remnants of my thoughts.
I just might daydream about a daydream,
And harness a fantasy about the ones who came before
The ones who came before the ones who didn’t care.
 
I search my heart to see if I’m still yearning
For the roadway to the seedlings of my life.
I just might embrace feeling this feeling,
And open my soul to quench the thirstiest thirst
Of the thirsty firsts for the needs to which I bear.
 
I clean my mouth to see if I’m still tainted
In the airway to the speeches of my intention.
I just might mix poison with poison,
And demand an understanding as I visualize
The lies of the lies that I cried in despair.
 
I wrack my mind to discover the key
To a pathway of authentic ramification.
I just might abscond the chains of sanity,
And infect my cerebral gears that speared the fears
Of indifferent years I grew from what was spared.
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Best Friend, A Poem

Best Friend

Desperate look with bloodshot eyes,
Liquid fix helps the hours you cried.
You yell for me, shout for me,
Begging to save.
Grab for me, grasp on me,
Always your way.
Threw you a dozen ropes of remedy,
Marveled at the woven noose of travesty.
How did you do this to us?
Why do you do it to yourself?
The ropes turn to the sharpest thorns,
My blood, dignity, trust is scorned.
Still you yell for me, shout for me,
Begging to save.
Grab for me, grasp on me,
Always your way.
Figure it out now with me gone.
I’ll take a new path that can’t be wrong.
How did you do this to us?
Why do you do it to yourself?
My friend, I wish you all that shines.
Free from ropes, alone you fly.
I can’t let you yell for me, shout for me,
Beg me to save.
Grab for me, grasp on me,
No longer your way.

Today

Today
Today I feel like a star,
Today I’m more alive than ever.
This time I know I’ll get far,
It’s time to show them my clever.
Today my mind is sound,
Today I manipulate the waves.
Upon me is a new sense of found,
Clothe me in fragments that saved.
Today I dress up the world,
Today I invest in my heart.
I am no longer a tortured girl,
It is no longer backward from start.
Today my blood is hot,
Today I depend on my fire.
An action shows what you’ve got,
Reaction will lead to desire.
Today the sun bathes my skin,
Today electricity swallows my veins.
I thirst for the notion to begin,
I absorb these emotions, wild and strange.

zen waterfall

Diamond In The Rough, A Poem

One of the toughest challenges for those with mental illness is maintaining relationships. It takes extra effort and compassion. I am lucky to be married to a strong, amazing woman. This poem is in tribute to that part of my marriage.

Diamond In The Rough

Driving alone, I love the dark.

I take the freeway to your heart.

Breathe my dust into your lungs,

A gentle scratch and we are done.

My blood is bitter; you taste sweet.

You watched me shatter on the street.

Was that in vain?

Am I still stable?

Think it’s time to cut my cable.

A glittered sundown with a barren tomorrow,

I fill your being with elated sorrow.

Did you yell?

Or cry it out?

Polluted words flee my mouth.

You inhale this whirlwind even still,

Through hazy hearts, I feel your will.

Am I the diamond in your rough?

Let me know when it’s enough.

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Learning to Love Myself and Be Free

I’m just a proxy in my own life,
And all that blocks me from my own light.
Faced with caffeinated conviction beating from my hollow chest,
Taste of metal travels through my mouth of perfect flesh.
I speak the words that once were fused.
Dancing satellites behold my muse.
Bleeding, breathing, scream alive!
Crying, loving, feelings thrive!
Rampantly flowing, the levee’s only chance;
That time has come to learn my dance.
The door is open, so shove me hard.
Gaining, remaining, I play my part.
I’ve outgrown my private cell,
Shameless esteem unlocked from hell.
So take a chance to embrace self love,
Create the path my dreams are made of.

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Rebirth – a Poem About Starting Over

I wrote this in reflection of starting fresh and erasing negativity, and then how life intercepts our purity, thus shaping how we think and live. I’ve been working on personal empowerment.

REBIRTH

She said I’m emo.

I said I’m thirty.

He said I’m brilliant.

I said I’m fed up.

They said I’m slipping.

I said I’ve resurfaced.

I look in the mirror and laugh at the irony.

Unclothed and pure, I bathe in all that keeps me afloat.

Every sense is heightened and I’m so much more aware.

You insist I’m slipping.

I declare I’ve resurfaced.

She said I’m out of hand.

I said show me.

They said I’m crazy.

I said thank you.

This time I listen hard and a fresh melody appears.

I’m vulnerable and young, with a delicate perspective.

I’m given a new set of nerves, and life so strongly caresses each one,

while stripping me of my new found naivety, leaving me to desire more.