Unabashed

Survivor of mental illness

15 years lived experience

Mindfulness practitioner

Side-By-Side Companion

Volunteer

Temporary Employee

Grant-Writer

Website Administrator

Peer Connection Program Coordinator

Peer Connection Support Group Facilitator

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Stacking up makes for taller piles of things. Looking at the sum of the things also pleases, especially since the evidence is right there.

My thoughts are moving around, or by. Too fast these days, and the little ribbons of the flapping as they whiz makes many dizzy and not good thoughts. Little pieces. Shrugged, slumped. Tired.

Activities such as this thumb message help. The realness of fact. The providence of knowing the self. So much remains covered in dried leaves.

Brick-Related Nonesene

I have found my words to be infrequent. I’m less inclined to open, having found safety in being closed.

I’m understanding my uniqueness better, in terms that aren’t shaming (mostly). I feel untethered from possibility because of the inherent isolation imposed by my traits, flaws, preferences and composition. The bridge I built to acceptance spans a mighty chasm, but will endure (show me how to unknow something and you can have my adoration).

Bricks are appropriate because you can’t make anything with just a couple and it usually takes a shitload of them all piled up to assemble something worth marveling at.

Just like bricks, their integrity remains solid until the ground starts moving.

I see out from the peephole. I’m here, but I only want to come out if I have one of my masks on. I have become familiar with how it fits, but it is still taking little pipet-drops away each time. I don’t notice it happening, I just do what I have to in the present. I see the quantity getting lower only as I glance away and back again after a time.

This is the mode. Survival is paramount; effectiveness depends on forward momentum. The masking suits that idea, while shielding. I won’t argue that it’s healthy, but it is not overtly destructive. My personas help move my life forward in most cases, and they are still me. Yet, they dissolve away in my solitude, and the truth hidden behind the guise is exposed. Within me lies the pile of smelly socks that is the inmost nature my true self. Having a history of repulsion, the imagery seemed appropriate.

Do you know what I’m talking about? I have simply embraced my “never” and moved on. Do you know what “never again” feels like? I do. I remind myself every day that choices have consequences.

More words will come, and maybe they will be more coherent next time.

Gurjection

My trajectory has been unclear recently, or, wobblier than usual. Symptoms have cost me much of the momentum I had going, but not forever.

These down times are a regular event in my town. We get out the fancy streamers and everyone dresses up like sad clowns. Tickets available on StubHub.

Point being, I’ve survived worse and more help is on the horizon.

I have recently established a career path that is ever curving toward a fully self-sustaining state. 40 hours a week. I can, quite literally, raise money to pay my salary through my own actions. A successful grant or two would accomplish that. This is the full time plateau I have sought.

I have been here with me the whole time, and I can say with confidence that he is doing about as well as he ever has. I’m pleased that he hasn’t imploded into a singularity or shattered the world with recklessly destructive explodination-related incendiary activities.

Fight! Do not let Toejamela McHosebeasterson put the sweaty foot to your throat. There is a shitload left to do our here in the world. Are you going to let Moopybritches Sucktoadersplats kick your ass today? I didn’t think so Charlie Championship. So grab your vitamin water and spiked cudgel and get out there! Let’s do this!!

My pep talks only work on the hopelessly insane.

Less-Spikey

My emotional regulation has been “askew” as it were, but also quite volatile. I imagine my emotional planet during the Late Heavy Bombardment, with a surface slowly succumbing to a primordial molten state… I’d rather not reach that point, which is a lifeless one to say the least.

Being alive is being in the real, the now, and present in the moment of existence in which we find ourselves. When I’m experiencing symptoms, reality is often filtered through a kaleidoscope of nonsensical responses, urges, reactions, thoughts and core feelings in clear defiance of logic or common sense based coherence. There is some part of me that is going, “hey, wait a second… that sounds pretty fucked up.” That’s the logic guy, he hasn’t been corrupted yet because he is strong. That part of me is the last bastion before the deep, black chasm of forgetting.

I don’t feel under siege just yet, but the armies of darkness are out there, inching closer.

Enough of that. The truth is, there will always be a part of me that will strain, because it goes on unacknowledged. I’d say that only 1 person in my whole life even has a good understanding of my personality and not run away screaming. Others have tried, and they were repelled, tortured, and damaged in their attempts to disarm or simply survive my radioactive properties. Sadly, being Bipolar and never truly having any handle on it created the inevitable trail of bodies in my wake as I shambled recklessly along the path of life. The guilt hangs on me like a heavy sack of feed that the animals of depression plunder as I toil forward. I have managed to become strong enough to not be constantly crushed by that load, and still make something positive of my life.

I work so hard being proud of who I am, but no one sees me. I have come to a place in my life where I am okay with not being “seen.” I know what it feels like, for the brief glimmers and shining moments in my adolescence I captured lightning in my hands. I know what I felt, the power and majesty of love, and no one can take it from me. If I go on in my reality without ever having that again, I am okay with that. I will not die in ignorance of happiness.

Looking up. I know who I am. Things are hard now, but I’m doing good holding my pants on without my belt. My recent plateau of stability is eroding…

Disenchanted

Abstractly contemplating. My state is one of conflicting strata exposed to uplift and rupture. Acknowledged in a history of strikes and slips, withering valleys and colossal peaks. Time washes the mountains to sand… but the story of what they were remains.

I crumbled within. Isolating for now, but thinking about my future. I know there are things I can do still. I missed my chance to go to group tonight. I just was not in an “okay” place. I felt antisocial and somewhat hostile about having to put on the mask, or exert any energy towards the thought. Preservation is paramount, especially when the self is vulnerable, fractured, and worsening.

I’m trying for better tomorrow. No one reads or cares most of the time here anymore. I don’t matter out here. Poor sad me with no friends on WordPress. Boo fucking hoo. The only place I have any worth is within my consciousness, as it should be. I am my only fan, and the only one who can improve my state unassisted. No outside intervention will be a solution without my help. So help I yes, with of many them goods.

Flatness

Back from event this evening, many tired. My body hurts, and breathing wildfire smoke all afternoon was not a friend. I feel stretched, like thousands of tiny hooks are trying to peel off my skin. Achy creaks and general grunty responses are commonplace.

Good was dispensed this afternoon, assuredly. I muscled up and strapped on the happy smiles professional guise. La la! Have a happy fun!

Retreating to my soft place now, I recall how I was haunted by music today. Their faces came back to me. I saw things, and felt. I remembered. It was largely not a good thing.

All day it has been this way. I need rest, peace, sleep. I tried to do a good job, and I was told that I had. Positive affirmations. Progress. Steps forward, despite foreboding

It’s just me now. There will never be another. I am all there is left. I must go forward.