Aug 8, 2020
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Summer, Highland Falls - Billy Joel (1976)
They say that these are not the best of times But they’re the only times I’ve ever known And I believe there is a time for meditation In cathedrals of our own
Now, I have seen that sad surrender in my lover’s eyes And I can only stand apart and sympathize For we are always what our situations hand us It’s either sadness or euphoria
So we’ll argue and we’ll compromise And realize that nothing’s ever changed For all our mutual experience, Our separate conclusions are the same
Now we are forced to recognize our inhumanity Our reason coexists with our insanity And though we choose between reality and madness It’s either sadness or euphoria
How thoughtlessly we dissipate our energies Perhaps we don’t fulfill each other’s fantasies And so we stand upon the ledges of our lives With our respective similarities It’s either sadness of euphoria
I want to tell you we're alright Want to erase all your doubt I've got this thorn dug in deeply Sometimes I can't get it out Sometimes I can't get it out Sometimes I can't get it out Sometimes I can't get it out ----- I'm just a manic depressive Toting around my own crown I've got a positive message Sometimes I can't get it out Sometimes I can't get it out Sometimes I can't get it out Sometimes I can't get it out -Brand New “Can’t Get it Out”
My new therapist rated my anxiety as moderate to severe and my depression as moderately severe. How's that for confusing?
P.S. If RFK Jr. tries to take my Zoloft, he's going to learn first hand why people like me need to be on it. I will have been on it for thirty years next month. Zoloft is what's kept me alive and out of prison.
The Sun Rises
At three in the afternoon, on a lazy December Sunday, I stare at the cream-painted ceiling and lay my back on the hard tiled floor. I was oblivious to the time that would take for me to move from what was familiar into the rather unknown, yet somehow, familiar place. As a personal living with manic depression, I consider movement from one place to another–now that I don’t even know where my home…
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At 38, you'd think I'd know. I'm not going to "get better" or "be cured". I'll be better for a time of course, but then it's back to riding the wheel of manic-depression again. Medicine helps until it doesn't and then it's back to a slew of doctor appointments that may or may not help, and will probably need to be rescheduled a dozen times.
I mean, its okay. I have good insurance and I've been here before. But sometimes it's not. I just.... it's frustrating. I don't know what I'm trying to say. It's just that being quiet doesn't suit me.
They say it's a disability, right? It makes me feel disabled, but maybe no one outside perceives that. And my body all works fine so the label doesn't sit well with me. But whatever. One step more.
MHA Poem 2: Mania
Another #poem for #MentalHealthAwareness Month. Today? Today is everything! Today? Anything might happen. Today... Today is #Mania
MANIA
All it takes is a beautiful fake smile to hide an injured soul and they will never notice how broken you really are…
-Robin Williams
Today, I’m going to skydive into the deepest pit out there: earth.
I’m going to dance in my underwear when I wake up, and sing about reckless abandon and falling in love with strangers on a whim.
I’ll eat leftover pizza from the backseat of the car of a…
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