My friend has gone and I don’t know what to do, what I should have or could have done.  I know the logic – there was nothing I could do.  But it remains that I am, as we all are, left with survivors guilt and the broken heart of the ones left behind.  I understand, respect and support her decision.  She has fulfilled the ultimate act of self-care, and removed herself from this nightmare of a world where she endurde a daily, torturous struggle against which there is no cure.  Now she has peace and joy and can laugh again.

Her path ran parallel to that of my mother’s – med resistant, ECT, suicide.  So much loss, blame and anger lies at the feet of bipolar and the medical community who prove time and time again to be inept in treating this illness.  Making money off our desperation.

Blahpolar had an immense effect on my life.  I doubt she even realised how much.  She walked beside me on my own journey even as she carried the weight of her own demons.  She said two words that redefined my life – you matter.  Two simple words that changed my life.  And now, I am at a loss for words.  Because she mattered to me, and to you and to us.  Words escape me.  All I have are tears.

I am still waiting for someone to contact me and tell me this was all a big mistake.  That it’s not true.  But it is true and her death has shifted my world slightly off axis. And I know that it will never turn quite the same again.

I won’t be joining you all on the 10 Sept.  It’s not because  I didn’t love her.  Its because I loved her that I can’t participate.  I will be taking my grief into isolation.  To be completely honest, I’m not sure I will return to blogging.  We all make such deep connections here, there is so much support and friendship and advocacy.  But despite the wonders of technology, we are still left alone and helpless in the face of bipolar.  I don’t know if I want to be vulnerable to anymore loss.  I just….. I don’t know what to say.

This was one of her favourite songs….. (PS – can someone please tell me what has happened to her dog?  Please I have to know)


It’s time to begin

sitting in an empty room
trying to forget the past
this was never meant to last
I wish it wasn’t so
– Linkin Park Waiting For The End

my landlord is a dick
there is no other word to pick
he creates a lot of stress
and with bipolar I’m a mess
so again last night I cried
cleansing all from my insides
Lover’s betrayal and his portrayal
of someone who was nothing more
than a sociopath plotting to score
I cried and then I cried some more
I let the heartache from me pour
curled up on the cold kitchen floor
I cried until my eyes were sore
I felt a weight lift
my heartache shift
its time to let go
and continue to grow
Linkin Park is a constant friend
and have penned the process to mend
they simply proclaim
‘the hardest part of ending is starting over again’

Love affliction

two weeks to go but you wouldn’t know

by the lack of excitement for my new home

with each box that’s sealed

more sorrow’s revealed

thoughts of Lover return in full colour

this house serves as my one last memory

of a love before it turned into my enemy

I have not one shred of his evidence left

except this place and leaving, I’m feeling bereft

I don’t know why I still cry

I guess grieving takes a while

I know I served as a distraction

a mere thieving transaction

I have no doubt I am washed from his mind

except for my name to be used in his lies

but he broke me and realistically

it’s an eternity to heal and feel whole again

especially after his ill gotten gains

a conman who held my heart in his fist

I wish I could give this love affliction a miss

Two down, but still so much farther to go

The needle was sunk deep into my ass and the plunger wouldn’t work. I was twisted as far around as I could go, manhandling the Voltaren syringe now dangling from my butt, and all I wanted was to shout for someone to come and help me. But I had to figure it out because I’m alone and only I could fix this.

And fix it I did, but this time it hurt. The indignity of my vulnerability brought me to tears. Although, in my current state of depression, pretty much everything brings me to tears – every day. And so I cried because the injection hurt. And I cried because yesterday, as so often happens, I passed my ex-husband in traffic and he didn’t notice me. It was a metaphor for our marriage – I was as invisible to him now as I was then.

I cried for the loss of Lover, a stranger I never knew, who’s abuse has changed me at such a fundamental level I know I will never be the same again. I cried over every other man who had mistreated me, abused me, raped me. Every friend who has discarded me, every colleague who has judged me. I cried because my father loves money and appearances more than he loves me. And, as always when I cry, I cried for the loss of my mother and her abandonment by chosing suicide. I just curled into a heap and cried snot and tears and emotional anguish.

Crying by stardixa -

I cry for loss [source]

But, as much as I am resistant to see a psychologist, at the insistence of my doc I have made an appointment for Thursday next week. I have no doubt I will cry some more. But, perhaps the pain can be channeled into some healing of sorts? I dunno. I’m kind of giving up.

All bottled up


Much to my shame, I’m constantly on the verge of tears throughout the day. Still. It’s been over 2 weeks. By society’s standards I should be over him and under another by now. But no. That’s not me.

I sit at my desk and, with a will of their own, tears just plop out from my eyes. I don’t even cry, they just fall of their own accord. I dab at them, don’t smudge the mascara, give my nose a blow and have a good sniff. I don’t want people thinking “oh there goes the bipolar drama queen crying again”. In the past I’ve always been pro expression, you see.

But now, I try to go unnoticed. My face is blank and heavy. You couldn’t coax a smile if you tried. There is no smiling, only tears. But this heartache is a private matter, so I try to bottle my expressions up. Keep composed, be faultless with my work….. cute, clean robot…beep beep, zzzt, zzzt…..

I nearly phoned him tonight. Yes, I know, I know. I came this close to breaking my own No Contact Policy. I was about to dial when…… I started crying. Like proper crying, with hiccups and snot running over my upper lip. I am home, so I let myself cry good and proper. It was painful and raw and I hurt. But once it was over I felt cleansed. A release. A relief.

And the best part was, I no longer wanted to phone him.

Double whammy

WARNING LABEL: Violent emotional outburst of bipolar proportions

shout - deviantart-com

It’s true. He’s gone. I can’t stop crying. It won’t stop and I don’t think I can do this anymore. I CAN’T DO THIS ANYMORE. I DON’T WANT TO DO THIS ANYMORE. Why? Why? Why? People ALWAYS leave me. My mother killed herself, my father remarried and told me – you’ll have to take care of yourself now Pieces, I have a new family now. And holy fuck has he ever kept his word on that one. Barely ever even phones me. Won’t acknowledge my bipolar. Rejection, rejection, re-fucking-jection. I’m SICK OF IT!!!!!

And in the midst of all this, I’ve lost my best friend as well. She was my ONLY FUCKING FRIEND. She introduced us, Lover and me. Granted she didn’t know him well. But she came to discover he was an alcoholic AND SHE DIDN’T TELL ME. She didn’t fucking tell me! She was all distant and acting strange with me. I didn’t understand what was going on. BUT I THINK SHE WAS AVOIDING ME!!!!! She didn’t tell me, she didn’t warn me. She says, by the time she realised it, it was already too late we had moved in together. The night I told Lover to leave, the night I FUCKING CAST HIM OUT AND PROPELLED HIM TOWARD A TOTAL AND COMPLETE SELF-IMPLOSION, I was highly emotionally charged and sent her an angry text about how she should have told me and perhaps it would have lessened my suffering. Now she won’t speak to me. I stand by the truth in what I said (‘cos I said other things as well), but I have swallowed my pride and apologised. I’ve grovelled like a pig in its own shit. But she will not answer me, acknowledge me, talk to me, text me. I don’t exist. YET ANOTHER FUCKING HUMAN BEING TO WHICH I DON’T EXIST.

But I don’t fucking exist. My father hasn’t contacted me the entire week. Not a peep since Saturday, when he was urging me to kick Lover out. No ‘how are you’, nothing.  My friend won’t speak to me. Lover has left me. WHAT THE FUUUUUUUUCK??!!!!!!!!! *doubles over*in.fucking.pain*

ALONE. ALONE. ALONE. ALONE. ALONE. ALONE. ALONE. I’m sick of people, I’m sick of life and most of all I’M FUCKING SICK OF BIPOLAR ‘COS IT MAKES EVERYTHING FEEL BIGGER, COLDER, HARDER. I feel like I’ll never recover. GODDAMN THE UNIVERSE. For the briefest of periods I was wanted and loved and he told me we were forever. AND I FUCKING BELIEVED HIM?????????? Even Christopher Columbus would not be able to find a more gullible person on this planet than me.

Everytime I think of him on the bus heading back to hearth and home, my whole body goes cold. I’m done……. I’m done, I’m done, I’m done, I’m fucking done. I will forage through my stockpile and slip into a sweet oblivion. I HAVE TO escape my emotions. They are killing me.

It’s not personal

Nobody knows for sure, but I’ve been told they think he left on the bus to Cape Town at 10am today. I should be relieved. I should be happy he’s gone and will soon be someone else’s problem. But I can’t break through these feelings of guilt and being abandoned, left behind, deserted. Unwanted. It’s a choking, physical pain.


love fuckin’ hurts. i want to wash away the memories (pic)

I’m trying to tell myself its not personal. He’s just a thief and a liar, a sick drunk, who hasn’t left me because he didn’t love me, but actually never loved me to begin with. I’m trying to tell myself that he hasn’t left me, but has instead run away. He’s a coward and has run away from his accountability. I’m trying to tell myself that he burned his bridges here in Durban and had nowhere left to run. So he’s run back to Cape Town….. from where he orginially ran one year ago.

I’m trying to tell myself these things. Repeating them over and over in my head. But today it’s not working. For today, I am just unwanted and heart.broken.

But not tomorrow. Tomorrow will try to be different, because he’s taken enough from me already. Throughout this experience, I have come to recognise that this grief and abandonment is far older than my encounter with Lover. It’s been buried and breeding in the wet basement of my soul for a lifetime, and Lover’s actions merely brought it to light.

So it’s not personal. It’s not about him anymore. It’s about me.

your mind already knows

Cleaning out my closet

Although we hardly spoke, yesterday was filled with anger, remorse, self-pity, regret. I knew what I had to do but wrestled with inner conflict all day. Finally I quietly said, you need to find another place to live.

All my fears of danger were unfounded, perhaps I was projecting my ex-husband’s alcoholic rages onto him. But I remain aware of the unpredictable nature of alcoholics. So let me not speak too soon, as he’s already phoned me twice since last night.

I was given me the impression I would be turning him out onto the streets, homeless. But he phoned his boss, who sorted out a temporary living arrangement for him. He went to the shops and drew out his share of the rent for February, telling me it’s the least he could do after all he’s put me through. He asked if he could leave now and come back during the week for his stuff. I stayed firm, and said no, it has to be done today. I didn’t want him having reason to return.

the_undesired_letter_by_ronaldbkg from deviantart

sorry‘ such a pitiful word

He’d bought a tablet in my name because he has bad credit. I made sure he gave me the tablet since I would now be liable for it (I take full accountability for my own stupidity). He handed it over without complaint. He didn’t have much – a few rubbish bags of clothes, a duvet and two pillows, some bath towels. I tried to help by putting his pots and pans in the bakkie. You can keep those, he said. I won’t be needing them. I wondered if that was another veiled threat at suicide. But that isn’t my responsibility anymore. I have my own suicides to avert.

Throughout, I kept fighting my eternal urge to apologise. I wanted to say – I’m sorry, stay, I still love you, I don’t want you to go, please don’t drink so everything can go back to the way it was before, please don’t leave me, I don’t want to live here alone. But I didn’t. I simply cried. For the loss of hope, dreams, broken trust and grief .

From start to finish, it took about one hour. We barely spoke. We both cried in our final goodbye. Well, I had never really stopped crying……

She stepped off the ledge

twenty three years ago

my mother turned to go

she stepped off the ledge

of sanity’s edge

and fell to her death

in just one breath

I love you today more than ever

you were truly a genuine treasure

you found humour in so many things

even went flying without any wings

I look like you, I have your smile

that people often do admire

You may be gone with each dawn since

but of your love I’m still convinced

I hold your memory close

and think of you the most

My mother, Ruth, committed suicide during what I now understand to have been a psychotic episode, on Sunday morning, 1 November 1992, between 8 - 8.30am (source:

My mother, Ruth, committed suicide during what I now understand to have been a psychotic episode, on Sunday morning, 1 November 1992, between 8 – 8.30am (source: