You know a lot of my posts have been rather dark. Not really inspirational, but coming from a place of pain. As I look across the Winter Sky, these stars looks different than they were 15 years ago. Wow, has it been that long? Back then my life had begun to make sense. I got rid of the drug dealing fiancee, lost about 50 pounds, had a great blossoming career, and a crush on a debonair older man, (not bad for a 20 year old huh?).
But through alcohol and my bipolar demons all that came to a screeching halt and I have spent the past 15 years trying to recover and figure out what in the fuck went wrong. Men. Ahhh, men. Complex creatures aren’t they? The say women are hard to figure out, but God, men are just as difficult. Guarded fellows, some looking for the next lay, its hard to understand what their motivations are. The ones thinking with their penis are pretty much simple creatures, but I go for the loner, complex, and brooding type. This has always been my type of man. The ones with no friends, doesn’t watch sports, and just stays locked in their own world. This type of man I can relate to, because even though they may seem anti-social and shunned from society, as a misfit and often misunderstood myself, I understand them and they become quite a challenge. Also, they are usually fuckin’ brilliant!
This type of man is usually 10-15 years older than me. Not this time. The Virginian. He is a mere one year older than me, but has reached my level of maturity and understanding where so many of his peers are struggling to catch up. I have lived ten time lifetimes in my 34 years, and as I approach my 35th birthday, things through my lens of the world are very different than they used to be. My focus now is my weight. I really have to get it down before I attempt another job. I need my confidence back. I am so beautiful but I do not see it at all. I am broken most of the time, and through my writing, I have expressed some really deep shit.
Suicidal and lost, the bipolar fucks with me. After 8 years of being stable, (if this is what you call stable), I feel the anti-psychotics wearing off. Drinking doesn’t help, I know this, but as bad as that sometimes gets, the clarity is a gift. My dark secrets. Never in my life did I expect anyone to accept them. The Virginian does. No matter what I throw at him, the darkest of the dark, the desire to die every day, he has me holding on for a future and a better tomorrow. “You never know what’s around the next corner,” he says, and you know what he is right.
We are dark.
We want to end it all.
But there is hope.
Here’s to the Bipolar. Let it not break me.