Laroca — Brassic

I bought a new album today. 
Valley of the Bears -- by Laroca

This is my favorite track so far. (:

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a coping skills kinda day

Sometimes it feels like the Bipolar is destroying me. 
Sometimes it feels like I'm losing all control. 
Today is one of those days. 

I'm on medication, which has been (literally) lifesaving. 
I've gone from sleepless nights and long manic trips 
followed by debilitating bouts with depression 
to a more mellow, more leveled out kind of me. 

Lately, however, it feels like the Bipolar is winning. 
I think it may be time to adjust my medication again, 
because the insomnia's getting worse, 
and I feel like I'm losing myself, 
losing the good parts of me under all the tension, 
the anxiety, the frustration and the roller coaster moods. 

When things are stable, when I feel more in control, 
I'm not so angry and irritable, not so mad at life, 
not so jealous of people who aren't Bipolar I, 
people who don't have to fight the demons I have to. 

I want to be able to be both stable and passionate, 
both emotional and in control. What I don't know 
is if that is even possible. I heard somewhere 
that living with Bipolar I requires a lifetime 
of tweaking the medication, of going to therapy, 
of avoiding triggers and trying to be healthy. 

I suppose, for me, that's been true. I was diagnosed
years ago, and I've been going to therapy religiously, 
taking my medication mostly non-sporadically, 
seeing my psych on a regular basis and refraining
from indulging in any number of things that trigger
episodes-- things like casual sex or drinking. 

I suppose I just needed to get some of this gunk 
out of my mind. I needed to put down in words 
that I'm irritated, that I'm frustrated, 
that I struggle to feel like I'm an okay person  
when the moods make me feel like I'm failing, 
like I'm always on the edge about to fall off. 

Today is a coping skills kinda day, 
a day when I screen my phone calls and order out, 
a day when I try my damnedest to be gentle with myself. 

It's going to be okay. I'm not suicidal. 
That's always a plus. I'll pull it together, 
and go back to my usual zany self. 
But right now? Right now I am going to curl up 
with some music and lock myself
away from the world for a while.

John Lennon — Imagine

Post 6 of the 30 post music challenge. 
A song that reminds me of somewhere. 

This song takes me back to a specific moment. 
It was evening, and I was standing on a balcony 
looking out over a patio strung with twinkle lights. 
This song was playing from somewhere down below me, 
and the man I loved was standing under a tree 
looking off into the distance
while I looked at him. 

It's odd how clear that moment is. 
Why it stuck with me, I have no idea, 
but this song will probably always remind me
of standing on that balcony
wearing a borrowed skirt and a pair of sandals
while looking at the man I wanted
but would never have. 

sleepy at dusk in June

I woke up at dawn this morning. I tried to stay curled up under the covers, 
convinced that I would eventually fall back to sleep if I laid still 
and closed my eyes, but as is becoming more and more common, it didn't work. 
It was another late night followed by an early morning, and I feel like 
part of me has been rubbed raw by sandpaper or the rough concrete
on the bottom of a pool. 

Today I was unproductive, sleepy and often incoherent. The highlight
of my day was when the kiddos went out to pick black raspberries in the yard. 
I gave them a plastic bucket, and they tried to keep from eating them all 
before they even made it to the bucket. In the end, they had a heap 
of maybe two cups of berries or so. I sprinkled on sugar and added 
a splash of milk, and they were so happy. It's a simple summer ritual, 
one of the things I'll miss about living on a farm. 

Now it is almost dusk. The light's just starting to fade. I am sleepy, 
lightheaded and warm. I want nothing more than a long sleep 
in an air conditioned room, a glass of cold milk and either some soothing
music or the sound of rain. 

A couple of months ago, I bought several tracks of nothing but the sound
of water. One was the sound of rain falling. One was a babbling brook. 
Another was the sound of an underwater stream. Each track was close to
an hour long. I put them in a playlist I call my rain playlist, 
and sometimes I fall asleep listening to them. It's this hushing sound, 
soothing, similar to white noise or the whir of a fan in how it calms 
me down and makes my thoughts slow and my body relax. 

Now it is dusk. The fireflies are starting to come out. They're flickering
across the fields and in the treetops. I love fireflies. I love the way 
they make the balmy summer evenings seem magical. I love the way they 
remind me of my childhood, of evenings spent chasing them, catching them 
in between cupped palms and then setting them free and watching them 
fly away. 

Fireflies remind me of cold watermelon and fireworks. They remind me 
of lying on a quilt in my grandma's front yard, as my aunt and uncle 
set off fireworks and, for just a little while, life seemed okay, 
my family seemed okay and I felt like, if only for an evening,
I actually fit in. 

Now, every year, my neighbors set off fireworks, and we walk 
across the field and over by the barn so we can see better. 
I plan on getting the kiddos some sparklers if the grass isn't too dry
and I think they can keep from burning the ends of their fingers 
as the sparks fly. 

It's dusk. I'm sleepy. Once again, I'm going to bed alone.
I don't mind this much. I actually prefer it. I get to sleep
on one side of the bed for part of the night and the other side
for the rest of it. I am selfish with the covers. I hoard the pillows. 
I am always switching to the cool side of the bed. 

Sometimes I remind myself that I won't always be this alone
nor this lonely. Someday things will be different. Someday. 
But for now? Enough writing. I worry if I write much more, 
I'll expose parts of myself that I want kept secret, 
hidden rooms that I deny exist within me.