3/15/2015

everywhere I roll
on the bed there's a
glass bottle waiting
to be crushed under weight
and bleed shards peppered with
red chrysanthemum petal

excuse everything I do with
"I was manic back then"
everything was beginning to get
tragic back then truthfully

first baby december days
and here we are in March
we haven't spoken in three months

and we will not forever.
I know when you say
Never Again you mean it because you had said to me earlier I Love You with the same vehement strength and I knew you meant that.

When I think of it,
butter knives pry my ribs open
the pain of the cut still hurting me

such a long time afterward and
nowadays I spend my days sitting on steps smoking a pack, kissing men trying to replicate something. And what?

it seems I am so detached from love, now I am trying to replicate me leaving a dorm room looking around hoping no one noticed

and sitting on a bench writhing because
I have so much to say and not one soul really truly wants to hear it, besides from men who've seen me naked and read my poems and

I only find that thoughts of dying,
not suicide of course just dying
are the only accustomed ones that I enjoy

I ***** onto the sidewalk
(hopefully my weaknesses my desolation right? Like the black humor of plague times)

blink my eyes
(Patients of severe depression are said to have melancholy, heavy grazing eyes. See Ian Curtis)

check my phone
(last call I made out was 8 hours
ago. no call back)

move toward nassau street now,
the long term suffering victim
of too much love,
and I can understand
why people **** themselves after

ten year long relationships.
however I am not so vexed,
just resentfully doleful and I

decide I shall blame tonight's
little dorm room nightstand on
sweet hypomania.

flip of the fingers house of your hands
steepled fingers like wooden roofbeams
diamond studded knuckles, rugby thumbs
palms over the dome and push doors

blueberry jars clink with raspberry under
the faded overhang of the balcony, leaves
me for sale and fortunate, slated skin,
mouthed promises against pixel skimmimg

It's a fascinating experience indeed
To know you're unbalanced
To know there's something wrong
To be really very confident
and to have red flags waving
But people are easily fooled
So you enjoy your high
Knowing you should listen to your therapist
Knowing she's absolutely right to worry
Knowing you'll disregard every one of her warnings
Knowing you'll lie over and over again
Because you want to be free
From the ******* of the pills
You just have to know
If they're what's ****** you up

wings in my brain
make it easier to see
i'm left out in the cold
doesn't matter, it's all good

money is no problem
people are awared
drugs are already here

can't really get my head around
why I feel this way
why it sometimes gets easy
to later just fall, into pretend

"you're bipolar"
they said
"welcome to hell"
they said
and nodded
laughed
fell into their beds

I live my life in extremes
Polar opposites attract in the center of my soul
And for some reason, living on opposite ends
Seems to be a fashion trend
I am not the "I made out with every girl in my college sorority
So now I'm bisexual" type of queer
Not to out-and-proud vomiting rainbows type of bisexuality
I am the bisexuality that gets erased
The eighth grade girl who, when she told her first boyfriend she was queer,
He told her she was over dramatic and crazy.
I am the bisexuality that gets oppressed
Because I am confined to the walls of a shrinking closet
Or is it expanding?
I have lost my sense of left or right
Up or down
Yes or no.
I am not your manic pixie dream girl type of bipolar
Not the girl who needs saving from her mental illness
Not drowning.
I am the bipolar disorder that becomes overwhelming
The depression that chains me to my bed in the morning
The hypomania that seems euphoric, but is never happy
The grey area, the lone horizon, the empty space in the middle
Seems like something I drive through over the speed limit
Every day of my life.
While my extremes do not look good on your favorite actress
They look beautiful on me.
Not an outfit I can strip down when it goes out of style
Not a channel I can change when it is not appealing anymore
But I will learn to love my fluctuations
My mood pendulum
My love pendulum
I am swinging from state to state
But at least I am flying
Instead of falling.

Tick tock
        Tick tock
                 Tick tock

It's already 5am
And here I am
Wide awake

As thoughts run
Through my head
Like a bullet train

Am I relapsing again?
Or I'm just on the edge
Waiting for a helping hand?

Or maybe I'm letting it be
For I've missed
Insanity to seep inside of me

Seeing that I am able to write
Shows clearly that
Hypomania has arrived.

Welcome back,
                 My frenemy.

High highs,
and low lows.
I wouldn't have it any other way,
I dare say, I have never felt more alive.
Casual Thursday identity crises that are anything but casual,
a relentless battle with self.
Regardless, it's time to saddle up.
Get out of your car,
relinquish the cigarette smoke and anguish,
we've all got **** to do,
and so we abide.
I am biding my time to unbind my euphoria.
A moment so clear and distinct,
where it's 2 am, the coffee house is closing,
and we've still so much to say.
I am well on my way,
despite the massive lack of sleep,
coffee and cigarettes to eat,
and it's better than a five course meal.
Optimism and bliss, for an instant,
that feels perhaps, in perpetuity.
Intermittence of all that was ever felt,
in greater doses,
to feed an addiction
of high highs,
and low lows.

I broke again today.
The earth shattering at my feet
became a mountain beneath my toes
of all the things I should try to hold back.
Hold it back.
Deny yourself the freedom of expression
because it will linger upon your wrists.
Stop yourself here.
I try to stop myself in my tracks
but I end up getting stuck in the mud
and there's no one here to help me out
so I end up sinking again.
As the waste reaches my mouth
I am silenced.
The will I had to bring myself out of this mold
has vanished and I am a sinking ship once again.
No one ever tells you how to cope.
How to trace your fingers across scares you've made for yourself-
how to turn this madness into something so beautiful.
No one knows what it's like.

I was 17 when I discovered I had manic depression-
the words left my therapists lips like they were an execution notice.
"This isn't a diagnosis" she muttered
"This is who you are, who you've always been
it's not a death sentence".
But why did I feel as if I was being sent to death row-
to be hung by the noose I had made myself
out of tragedy and molestation and abuse.
There were no flowers at this burial.
Just a long awaited sigh of relief.
I always knew I wasn't like everyone else.
She drew me a picture of what it was like-
there were five stages of the imbalance living in my bones.
Major depression, dysthymia, normalcy, hypomania and mania-
she drew me a picture like she was trying to map me out
like she was drawing a Ned's declassified Bipolar Survival guide-
She explained it well.
How the days of normalcy tend to come and go again and again
but the mania and the major depression
pack their bags and stay awhile.
The major depression is like
a visit from a mentally abusive family member
that makes a point to tell you what the **** is wrong with you
when you already know, you tell yourself the same things everyday.
But the mania is like you're fun aunt that buys you beer
and tells you it's okay to **** whoever you want.
Get that piercing, dye your hair, who gives a ****?
The world is yours and the endorphin high you're on-
yeah that's your best ******* friend.
That's the aunt you wish you could be-
and sometimes they take you out on dinner dates-
they'll tell you how horrible you are and remind you
of all the things you have to be worried about.
They fill your head with nonsense and anxiety-
they convince you life would be better without you.
But then you remember what the mania feels like
when it's just the both of you bonding over ice cream
and spending too much money on thing you don't need-
you don't ever want her to leave..
"The mania is why most people don't get help" she said.

Mental illnesses are like actual illnesses-
they're a chemical imbalance in your brain
and you don't tell someone with diabetes
"Oh hey, just think that you're insulin is fine and it will be"
It doesn't ******* work like that.
See the Norepinephrine ran away when I was young
and the lack their of decided to hangout with serotonin.
They became best friends-
so I became the third wheel
and suddenly they both just stopped coming around.
I found a journal from when I was seven-
It said, "I don't want to be here anymore."
Most seven year old were taking care of furby's
or watching saturday morning cartoons-
But me? I wanted to end my life
like it was another ******* rerun
of the same episode you ******* hated
and all you want to do is turn it the *******
but there's really nothing else on TV
so you watch anyway.
Idly sitting there as you're hating every second-
But I'm still alive.
And these hands have dealt with more than just cuts
and pills bottles that became empty with mania that became worse-
I'm staring blankly at this page she drew for me.
Mapping out my mania like it's roller coaster tycoon
I think I'll call it Avalanche because ever since
I was labeled as having "Manic Depression",
I've been climbing my battles ever since-
even though some days, they try to fight back.  
There was a word to the way I was feeling
and a map to express it.
I felt like when I was young and I led Dora to the correct place-
all because of the map guiding her to her destination.
My therapist gave me the map-
she drew my way into understanding.
I haven't found my way home quite yet-
but at least I now know where I'm going.

Do it now
Keep going
Never stop (repeat)

**** the consequences
Don’t slow down
Live fully in every minute
Expect everyone else to
Hold them to impossible standards

So much to do
So many ideas
No time
Who sleeps anyways?

This energy builds and destructs
Explodes into my life in a rash of impulses and hurt feelings
My mouth ****** off more people
Get kicked out of another bar
Alienate another friend
Write more checks that bounce before the ink is dry

I am stuck in a prison of abstract ideas,
And overpowering emotions.
A random coagulation of quickly scrawled,
Half formed ideas
Spewing from unimaginable imaginary conversations
With people that never existed
Scribbled incoherently with no regard for structure or form.
Then reedit, again and again,
Until the nonsense is decipherable to normal people.

I am afraid of stopping
Of being too slow
Terrified of complacency

Get happy
Sad
Angry
Don’t give anyone a second to catch up
Moods change with each tick of the clock

ADHD…Nah.
I can focus
Hyper-focus, intently
So much so that I forget to eat, sleep, breathe
Forget that time and the world exists

Was this what Picasso was like
As he obsessed over a canvas
Or ******* as he whipped paint across the floor
Chain smoking his life through his fingertips
Casting the spent matches into the paint

I can’t stop once the adrenaline starts
My head is a toxic chemical soup
The only antidote is a massive rush of endorphins
If you catch what I mean

Here’s all this information
I’m going to keep bombarding you with it
Make something out of it
If I’m satisfied
Maybe I’ll stop
(I won’t)

You hold my hips as we listen to Kaskade
I'm never going to know the exact name of the song, darling
I rest my head on your shoulder
Exactly 72 hours or more after we met
Smiling serenely at each other, trance-like
Our bodies swaying to some invisible beat residing in our heads

We never do watch that Minions movie in Dunellen
We do eat cold leftovers of Chinese takeout
Retrieve them from the mini fridge in the hotel room
Congealed chicken and broccoli and your beef dish
We eat cold slices of Margarita pizza from the first night
Shared an Italian dessert with two spoons and one glass and thought nothing of it
Talked of your ex as if you'd driven out to see me for months instead of just that one time
Smell **** in the hotel hallway when we come back from our escapades
Joke that maybe we could ask the other patrons two rooms down for “a sample.”

The room becomes a home
We domesticate ourselves
Trap our secrets and nightly admissions in the thin walls
Share a toothbrush
I model for you in your old boxers
You grip my hips and kiss tortured minds out of our systems
On the first night, you fumble for me in the darkness
We had *** hours before
I'd only had one pair of clothing
I was high on hypomania
You were lonely and desperate and enamored with the idea of me
I heard your voice in the pitch black of the room
Disembodied, floating, pining

“Taylor...? Are you awake?”
“Yes,” I answer back, stifling a yawn
Demons crawled along the surface of your bronze skin
I could feel them too
They were always there, slinking into the corners of every room
Perching on the windowsill, furtively glancing at us
Unseen, invisible, unknown, silent stalkers

You ask me about loneliness
You speak about your worries for an “us” not even a week
After your Facebook friend request
“I don't know if we'll work out in a relationship,” you say
I watch you with my large brown eyes, inquisitive
Bite my lip, taste the salt of you on my bottom one
Taste your skin and spit on me

Hours before you'd clasped my leg, it, laying on your shoulder
You pounding, feral, all wild animal, sweat on your brow
Grunting quietly, watching me, looking at nothing and everything at once
You **** me until I'm completely dry and sore
Lament that you want to be inside me still, that it *****
I think, oh how it does
We took off our glasses to blindly ***** at each other in the darkness
You'd said you liked how it sharpened the senses
I was a repeating rainstorm, endless, Summer showers in the bedroom
Hot, sticky, palpable
You taste saltwater, briny, sea, inside of me

“I don't know if we'll work out together
When we do go back and if we do end up together
It'll be disastrous,” you fortune-tell
I bite my tongue, taste salt and pennies in my mouth
I swallow it down wordlessly
Hours later, you're back in PA
I message you on Facebook, my heart in my mouth
I want to ***** with the amount of anxiety,
Tremulous in my fingers, humming in my blood
Throbbing, alive, achingly


“I don't intend to fall for people usually...
But I've fallen for you
I don't think I can keep talking to you like this
I'm usually scared of falling for people,” I write
You reply without any trepidation
Some strange confidence and Siren call beckoning you
Some spellbound hook curling around your fingers
“I'm emotionally invested in you too
Look, I understand
But I enjoyed my time with you
Let's at least be friends
It's not easy for me to shake someone off.”

Two months later you tell me, after messaging me at 10am
To see how I was doing
That when your room mate was wildly ******* his girlfriend you thought of me
“Most days I think of you.
You're in my daydreams
I come home and I wish you were here
That I could come home from work and you'd be there waiting for me.”

I try to scratch you out of my head, now
It hurts too much
I told you I was in love, I tried to deny it but now it's more apparent
I message you and get silence in response
Talk to someone else
Have ******* with another man
Purge it out of my system
Stick my fingers in the back of my throat
Try to puke. Nothing. Dry heave.
Encourage him to see me and then I encourage him not to
I lose about five pounds

I think about you and your stupid dog and cat
I think about you and the daydreams
I think about you and other women
How you'd **** them
How you'd take them out to dinner and hold their hands
Rub their fingers with your thumb
How you might be

Your hands
Your soft breath
The bright gleaming eyes
That strong German jawline
That fleeting mood,
Upswing and downswing
Your insistent arrogance
The hot tongue on my hardened ******
You suckling
Dark heat emanating from your wet and warm mouth
******* me on the couch
Clasping to each other
Burying our heads in each others' necks
Slow rocking back and forth
Rhythmic
Our shirts still on, your jeans half-way pulled down
You entering in such haste and hunger
The board game forgotten on the table
Laughter muffled by your feverishly kissing me
Did you love...? Did you?

I think about the physicality
But then I think of the late night conversations I'll never get back
Your sleepy “hello” at 1 in the morning
Philosophical musings I never tell my friends that we had
Us, talking about literally nothing in the beginning
The lingerie site we subscribed to
Looking through catalogs of what you'd see me in
You saying you could buy me something to model for you
The *** chairs we looked at, furniture to purchase
Odd daydreams of a coupling that almost-was but never-was

I think about you holding me even though you're so unused to it
The smell of baking banana bread
That inner battle in your head when you saw me the second time
That sadness
That loneliness
Your... “don't forget to come back.”
Cologne on your medical scrubs
How I didn't want to let go
How I wanted to stay
God, how I wanted to stay and just do better
The kiss and then...I wonder if there was a lie in your mouth
No, I don't think so
Was it my fault to fall?
No, I don't think so
Was it yours?
No...I don't think--

How many times, must I swing from a height
To an inevitable hollow of apathy and decay?
Riding the crest of a 30 foot wave
Strewn ashore to begin paddling the sea of life anew.

Stability is a still lake, calm and serene
Yet lacking sublimity and inspiration
Passivity, the bitter sweetness of fitting in
Normal I may be, but seemingly dull.

If only I could be coherent
When high, like tributaries to a river
Each stream of consciousness
Adding to a global master plan.

Exodus of the emotions, the Latin ecstase
As it pours forth unending, without pause
Elation edgy yet welcomed
To some my words seem without cause.

Surely there is some truth
Some empirical evidence that says
Hypomania is unsorted flourishing
Condensed and concentrated well-being.

My love for you is
Just like hypomania
Pure, sleepless, happy

And then the brain chemist spilled
An entire bottle of hypomania
Into the *** of depression.
Hell has many names.

Maybe it's because I only come here when I get depressed...
And when I'm not, I think writing is stupid, and that no one cares, and that I was just pathetic looking for attention.

I started taking a mood stabilizer earlier this week after the psychiatrist told me anti-depressants won't work. They'll make me worse.

I have been going to therapy for my so-called depression for about 7 years... not continuously though, a year or two in between I thought I cured myself when I was hypomanic.

Anyway, I always refused to take medication for whatever reason, but in the past two months, I fell into a deep and dark hole that I thought I couldn't get out of and for whatever reason I told my therapist that I wanted to try medication.

I was referred to a psychiatrist and that's when I found out.

It all makes sense.
I hope the medication works.
I want to be normal.

So my depression all along was actually bipolar disorder. The entire time my hypomania hid behind self-help books, my ocd, my eating disorder, my anxiety, my high energy, my reckless decisions, my thoughts about how I was fine and making everything up, the false sense of happiness...

I only wrote when I fell into a dark place.

It all makes so much sense.