I wish I was a professional artist who had enough time to indulge words and senses all day long. To feel fulfilled. To feel passionate. To feel satisfied. To express, unrestricted and unrestrained. To be dark or expansive without excuse. To feel I’m living a purpose. To be true. Unapologetically true. To feel alive. Because this, this is not what I had planned.
Change, they say. Get a new job. New friends. Move house. Move town. Get a hobby. Get a life coach, a personal trainer, a financial adviser, a lover, a husband. You are your own change, they say. Follow your dreams, they say. Live a life you have designed….. Live simply, dream big…… Live with no regrets…..
They? The ones that make it sound so simple? They are the ones who live free. Myself? My reality is I am forced to live within the limits of my illness to survive. Bipolar a heavy weight of confinement and commitment to my personal management plan – avoiding triggers and over-stimulation, keeping to a strict sleep pattern and predictable daily routine to maintain stability. My world is stunted, narrowed. Every, single, day. Whittled away piece by piece with each year I age. My soul inked with sadness. My mind stolen by mania. My body raked by fatigue. Bipolar is my dominatrix. So here I rot. Deceived by hope. Dreams far from my grasp. This is not what I had planned.
Twenty One Pilots (Forrest)
This is a bipolar anthem if ever I’ve heard one
Ricochet, you take your aim
Fire away, fire away
You shoot me down but I won’t fall
I am titanium
We are all wounded. We all have scars to bear. We all have unspoken traumas. We are all damaged in some irreparable way. The cruelest thing we can do to ourselves, is to allow these events to limit us.
“I don’t know how to let anyone else in
Because of you
I’m ashamed of my life because it’s empty
Because of you
I am afraid
It’s more than just music. It heals, it comforts and it motivates. It is relatable – to our pain, our sorrow, our energy or joy. And then there is the great escape. Music makes the world recede, providing a refuge and a sense of peace.
Gangs of Ballet is a local South African band. I view this song from the perspective of self-love. My own self and my bipolar self co-existing in harmony and considerate of one another. For each to never stop caring, to keep one another safe from harmful thoughts and actions, and to never let go during times of darkness
“I am your arms, you are my feet
And tomorrow could be our new day
Please don’t let me go
I said please don’t let me go
With the world outside of our doors
I’ll be safe here in your arms
I said please don’t let me go
Don’t let me go”
Gangs of Ballet – Don’t let me go
1. Thank the person who nominated you
2. Post one quote for three consecutive days
3. Nominate three bloggers each day
Thank you Dana for nominating me for the Three Day Quote Challenge. I accept the challenge and will post quotes that best represent me on my present journey.
As with challenges and awards, there is no obligation to accept. With that being said, my nominees are:
Dear Darling Sanity
Logic told Paranoia to stop filling the girl’s head with lies. Reason tried to prevail and sought out Rational. But Rational was not present at the time. Paranoia continued to whisper his lies into the girl’s ears. So she plugged her ears shut with music and sought her salvation.
Papercut – Linkin Park
Music helps me run away from the pain
Fall down. Get back up. Dust myself off. And start again.
Start again…. if I could just get out of bed……
I’ve had such a horrible day. Everything’s gone wrong, as if conspiring against me. At work, computers were down, connections were lost, people were absent and work continued to perplex my confused memory. I plodded along with my mind focused on 4:30pm, like a carrot swaying on a stick.
Traffic was jammed because electricity was out and traffic lights were winking red, red, red, red, red. I sat, car idling, in the middle of the traffic war, listening to Meatloaf’s “I Would Do Anything For Love” and started to cry. I cried all the way home. And I continued crying long after I was home. And to bloody compound the situation, I was making meatloaf for dinner. No lie. So I cried some more.
I am enveloped by sorrow. I feel alone, unloved, unloveable. I have no direction in my life, no achievement. I’m wafting along, alone, living one day at a time. I know in bipolar terms, I’m doing well. Hey, I’m not dead yet! That’s what I mean by ‘doing well’.
But I want more. I want love, companionship, success in the workplace. I want FUN! I want to laugh, not cry. And I don’t even have any chocolate left in the house. Trying to curb comfort eating means I only buy chocolate (double the amount – shhhh don’t tell) on weekends. So in all my glorious moodiness I plopped down on the sofa to watch TV, shifted the blanket to cover my feet aaaaaaand…. uncovered half a bar of chocolate. I LOVE IT WHEN I’M FORGETFUL.