Almost a month

It's been almost a month since I've set my intentions on writing here, in this digital space where maybe 10-50 people will hear my words spoken within the reiteration of their own mind's reading. Subject to interpretation, of course. But one month, almost, it has been, and today I remembered that I want to write here everyday most importantly for the reason that the release keeps me sane. In this last month, as like always, I have tempered my moods, calming and heightening my affect to suit the likes of the people around me. But for some reason, today, I am more resolved in my heart, and quick in my middle-finger muscle memory. I want to write because I want to live, and that desire doesn't always come so easliy or genuinely to a bipolar chic like me. But today?

Today I am sitting in the midst of my own broken heart. A dream I had just yesterday seems suddenly to be unreal. The person for whom my heart yearns decided to walk away, and I am still here. Living today despite the horrible possibility that the only script I'd ever written concerning love, is turning in to a bigger flop than any J Lo theatrical disaster. So I sit, and I cry, and I cry, and I cry, and I tell myself one hundred thousand times to stop thinking whatever it is I happen to be thinking at that moment which is most abundantly along the lines of self-hating, pessimistic, hateful, pitiful, and martyrdom. That's just how I roll.

See, the deal with being bipolar is that most often my thoughts and my emotions are guided by forces and chemicals outside of my control, and often outside of my awareness. I do not know that I am abnormal; frequently the only barometer for my whackyness will be the looks and attitudes of the people around me as I blow through conversations like a hurricane, or melt into emotional mush on their feet. In fact, not until I have begun to silently implode on my bathroom floor in a pool of my own thoughts and fears do I start to catch the idea that I'm suffering from something that I just don't understand.

Maybe this is why my heart is broken.

I prefer to 'endure' rather than to 'suffer'

This shiii is crazy. Or maybe I am?

Perhaps I could tell you that I am a recovering alcoholic of the manic depressive type with a ton on my mind and a laptop at my fingers. There exists a medical chart roughly 52mm thick in some office somewhere that probably paints a pretty rough picture of my personality...though I think enough is quite evident already in my daily behavior and jaunts into 'civilian' society to clearly define my issues: Bipolar, PTSD, ADHD......whatever. My diseases and disorders, while opressive and foreboding, do not necessarily define me. I am a woman. I am a woman old enough to do whatever I wish, and still young enough to jump in feet first. I am a mother. I am a mother who had to learn what it meant to love my child as she grew, because it didn't happen in my heart simply by rite of her birth. I am a student. This Fall semester will see the conclusion of my undergraduate work after so many years of setbacks and hard work. I am a partner and friend. I give my love to a man whom I'm pretty sure was given directly to me by God, and all the rest of what I have is spread like joy to my friends, without whom I would not be alive. And I write.....

I write and I snap photos and I will share this journey as I go. THIS is an amazing life far beyond my wildest dreams, and it's time to start documenting the dang thing!