I was told by A"shrink"LAST month that I had Hypermania because I talk faster than the average Joe or Jane. I said, you know, some people read faster than average too. People speak at a speed they are comfortable with. If they don't want to make mistakes during speaking, they tend to speak at the speed they read at or maybe a bit slower. I on the other hand happen to speak fluent gibberish, because I am a virtual speed-reader of *******, so I have a go at it comfortably. Just joking, I don't read *******. I will admit I should slow down when doing a Poetry Reading though, because you shouldn't rush through such. It's kind of like hauling *** on a motorcycle on the scenic route while on a weekend cruise to relax. Anyway, to top off this he claimed another qualifier for my Hypermania was that in my writing to him I was in such a hurry that I "accidentally" wrote abstruse when I obviously wanted to write abstract. I said, "Nooo, I meant to write abstruse." It is a word. It just so happens that one of the definitions of abstract is abstruse -ha ha. But he didn't know that until I told him. Abstruse- Difficult to understand. It's a word, Doc. Ha ha, WordDoc.

You told me you thought I had an extensive vocabulary in the first 5 minutes of meeting with me, so why would you assume it more likely that I ******* up so grossly on a word, than consider the possibility of a word existing without having crossed your eyes or ears? Lol You got a picture in your head of his eyes crossed, didn't you? Me too. ;)

But yeah, I was  "hypomanic" during the observation. Shhh... Even a broken clock is right twice daily.

It’s the constant fear
That I don’t belong here
That I should bow out
Before we’re attached to the idea
That I could settle down
Maybe learn to not freak out
That at the end of the day I have nothing
To yell or cry about

I’m just a pretty face
Who typically knows
Just what to say
And if I had it my way
I’d have it any other way
Sometimes I wonder
What name
Glimmers on your phone screen
When I reply to your “hellos" and “heys"

I’m just a bearded chin
Running on momentum
Held together by bobby pins
And regardless of my yesterdays
My body wakes in aches and pains
Psychosomatic
Hypomanic
You only think twice
When normal’s a panic
And most night's I think that I'm the one to blame

As if "guilty" somehow took my first name

I was just a waste of time
You found yourself
And left me outside
And sometimes I don’t blame you
I just ask myself
“Who really replaced who?”

But when I’m not around
Will you notice it?
When you ignore my presence
Will you at least feel it when I’m absent?
But hey be careful with this
We lost a piece the last time that you broke it

And it’s the constant fear
That you’ll forget me in a year
I was temporary at best
A sin yet to be confessed

It’s just a tough pill to swallow
That some sinners won’t be saints

I spent hours staring at the phone
Wondering when we can ever be alone
It’s hard to love you and I can’t complain
It pains me that I want to show you what it means to be on cloud nine
Although, we’re together
It doesn’t feel like you’re mine
I’m empty again.
There’s no hope left.
I’m left begging for attention like the rest,
And it hurts me
Hard to breathe
Hard to believe that
Maybe we’re not meant to be
You’re shooting me down
Bullet to the chest,
Agonizing pain called ‘rejection’.
I don’t want to give up on this.
I miss when we don’t talk.
But you don’t even want to kiss me.
And I’m wondering if I’m that repulsively disgusting
Lusting over whether you’re worth it or not
When it’s good, I’m fine
But I’m so easily forgotten by you
You’re the Adalind to my Eve,
I can’t bear to leave
Still…that’s only because I’m afraid of abandonment.
The breaking of relationships sent me on a ship of destruction
My own Titanic,
With a dose of hypomanic infatuation
I never knew when to end it
Always afraid of going overboard,
A safety vest couldn't save me from this mess.
When I’m drowning in depression
There’s only the deep, blue sea beneath me
A bottle of pills across my bed.
I swallow my pride.
And death hits for a second.
My parents come rushing in, and they call the ambulance.
Cardiac arrest
Shattered apart like a broken bird's nest
A shocking force through my veins,
People shouting my name, telling me to stay awake.
The doctor said I almost didn’t make it.

Sometimes
it gets so bad
that I stop drinking
or smoking,
or, god forbid,
both.
Sometimes
it gets so bad
I think I might
do something really stupid
like pray,
or move to California,
or get a tattoo
of an empty pale blue dot,
or throw myself to the lionesses,
or write poetry,
or call her.
Sometimes
it gets so bad
that lilacs turn black.
Sometimes
it gets so bad
that I make statues
of happy people
out of the rocks
at rock bottom.
Sometimes
it gets so bad,
that I shoot
hummingbirds
with 24 caliber regrets.

There are sidewalks
soaked with apathy.
There are ladders
that were intentionally
built to be
almost tall enough
to reach the fruit
on the tree that your soul aches for.
You'll thank yourself later.
It will always mean more to you
if it is constantly just beyond your fingertips.

Sometimes
it gets so bad
that I see the ghost
of the person I thought you were
In the smiling
eyes
of a brand new human.
I see fire escapes
and think of the best hypomanic episode
I ever had.
And then
It gets so bad
all of it rushes back
and the knife
that once cut me free
guts me.
Sometimes
it gets so bad
that I dare it to get worse.
And then it does
and I start to laugh
like some kind of
*******.
Sometimes
it gets so bad
that I start
to love myself.
Sometimes
it gets so bad
that caterpillars
make me cry.
Sometimes
it gets so bad
I melt away,
and all that is left
is the music of revelry.
Sometimes
it gets so bad
that I wear down cinder blocks
with my tongue,
and those black lilacs
don't get their color back,
but I see them as August.

Hypomanic transgressions and smirks.
Hiding again from paranoia that lurks.
A synthetic stomach is nauseous and hurts.
Need that ****** script.
Or at least a drug  fix.
It’s been two ******* days.
Colazapine awaits.
but **** there endless games.
Laughing and mocking is all people do.
Left one ravishing in rue.
The ******* television is reading minds with murdering demeanor.
Crave chemicals and drugs that you can make with bleach and cleaners.

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.

I'm sick of waking up hungover, sober, sad, anxious, self diagnosed hypomanic (the therapist and psychiatrist say it's a no)
Downright, not right
But there's nothing to do
But to pry the sheets from my being
Pray for the best
And wade myself though it

The psychiatrist declares
himself pleased with my progress.
I am stable, hypomanic,
glibly articulate.
My mood feeds
on poetry and travel,
the exultation of grace.

I can face
the limits of my fate,
Ravenous for glory,
gluttonous for Art.
No work in retirement:
creativity is no work.

Outside, the lawn shines
In neon greens.
Irises, poppies break
The color plane.
Beauty, too, is no work
For the Creator.

Unlike Lowell,
My mind is quite right.