It is only when I wake from my slumber that I realize I am still entwined in your poisoned embrace. It is the pain you so vivaciously lavish upon me which brings me from the depths of my dreams into subconsciousness and finally into the stark reality of your omnipotent occupation in my life.
Your arms and legs circle around me like thorny vines, burrowing into my skin, planting yourself into each nerve cell and sprouting seedlings of jagged knives and white-hot spears which explode like unadulterated fireworks the moment I try to move. You chuckle lazily and whisper to me, "You know the sounds between pleasure and pain are often
indistinguishable. Your pain equals my pleasure. You know I'm here to
let you know that you're still alive."
I can only allow myself a brief moment before I must force myself to sit up because I feel you slowly spiraling up my spine, trying to keep me immobile. I know I must move before your grip becomes even stronger or I may not be able to move at all. I grit my teeth and force myself up and onto my feet. The agony I feel as I try to steady myself causes you to smile even wider, flashing your fangs and licking your cold, dry lips. You know the pain is exquisite and I can do nothing but live through the experience each day I wake. You are a relentless bastard of a beast! Damn you to hell!
As I finally make it to my chair after shuffling through the house I know some relief will come within the next two hours. I swallow the pills that will tame your temper within me... that will allow me to function as a real human being. You never completely leave though, you are always there... needling and cramping my muscles, inflaming my joints, clawing your way throughout me body. If you would just leave me alone for one day! Oh, what a GLORIOUS day that would be, indeed!
You have weakened my body and my immune system. You have weakened my spirit. You have caused me to miss a lot of time with my family and friends. You have cost me time away from jobs and now you even limit the types of jobs I can perform! You have cost me opportunities. You are a THIEF.
You have cost me LIFE as I once knew it!
I ABHOR YOU!
Posted by
Stormy Rain Stevens
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Posted by
Stormy Rain Stevens
comments (0)
Time, itself, is irrelevant when you
plunge into the abyss. Whether you are lost in it for one hour, one day, one
week, etcetera... it feels
like an eternity! Desperation sets in immediately as does fear, loathing,
panic, gloom, doom, and a host of other negative feelings! They're ALL
in there! It's horrible in that trap and it's hard… so hard to find the way
back out!
You crawl, you claw, you cry, you scream,
you tear at whatever you can feel and pray it will give you purchase to lift
yourself back out while those black, oozing vines curve around each part of
your body, holding on tighter and tighter, pulling you downward. It seems the
more you struggle the stronger those black tentacles become that have you in
their grip. You try to scream but the black ooze pours into your nose and
mouth, suffocating you! It rains down on you like a thunderstorm hell-bent on
destroying you! It's so all-consuming! You wonder, again and again, if you will
make it out this time or if you will just give up and allow yourself to be
pulled to the bottom.
There are so many of us that sit there on
the edge of the abyss. We want to move away from it. We want to go interact
with our friends (what friends we have left) and our families (yes, IF we have
family left too), but we just don't have the strength to move away from it. We
don't enjoy the view here and we certainly don't like falling off the edge and
having to fight our way back to it when that happens. The Eagles said it best in their
song of Hotel
California, "We are all just
prisoners here of our own device." No one has ever uttered truer
words.
Once you manage to claw your way back to
the edge and get seated once again you're too drained… too tired… to do
anything. All you want to do is sleep. This is your exit strategy from the abyss right now. You have
worked so hard climbing out of that pit of hell that to finish the job of
coming back, to be able to put your "smiling, I'm okay" mask back on
for everyone else's benefit, you need sleep.
Those around you still see you as
though you are in that depressive state of mind. They think you're still
so depressed that all you can do is sleep. Only you know the struggle you
just fought through. No one that has not been inside the abyss knows the real
story. Even when you try to explain it to them, they don't get it, they don't
fully understand it, they just can't imagine the reality of it because THEY
have never experienced it.
It's like a military veteran trying to explain war
to those who weren't there like he or she was. We can't imagine being in the
throes of gunfire, grenades exploding all around us, smelling death in the air… I know I can't fully imagine it because I've never had to live it. Thank
God for all the troops who face that kind of thing in order to protect our
freedom! I am so grateful for that!
I'm holding on to the edge again. I've
clawed back up this far. When I can find the strength I'll pull myself back
onto the edge and sit there awhile. I'm just so tired from the struggle right
now.
Posted by
Stormy Rain Stevens
comments (1)
"Should I stay or should I go now?" - The Clash It's a good question... a valid question. Actually, it's a pretty straight-forward and simple question. So why then, is it so damned hard for me to answer?!
RESPONSIBILITY! That's why! That's the only thing I've figure out thus far! I can't come up with any other reasons. It's the responsibility I have to NOT hurt the ones that I love for crying out loud! It's THAT responsibility!!
Do you actually grasp the understanding from whence I am actually coming from with this?! I'm coming from the pits of fucking HELL with this question! THE PITS OF HELL!!
We live in the land of Hell right here on this earth. If you don't believe me, OPEN YOUR EYES!! It's simply IMPOSSIBLE not to see it. But so many people have become bling to it... our homeless population when apartment buildings and houses are sitting empty that could be home for them.
Our starving. When you see a "beggar" on the street, you are only seeing the side to him/her that he/she is forced for you to see. You fail to see the man who used to be the top salesman at Sprint until they moved his job to India. Ever wondered why you NEVER get an American when you have to call them now?
What about the lady? Maybe she is a real estate agent who was burned in the the crash of real estate and hasn't been lucky enough to get up on her feet again. Maybe she trying to get food to feed her two starving children who are hidden in the car, terrified for their lives or if their mom will come back. Think about these things. If you have some change or a few dollars you can spare, give them something. Don't think about what they're going to do with that money, you gave it to them, it belongs to them now and they must live with the choices and the consequences of those choices.
But I digress. There are other parts of Hell. The PITS of hell... the ones that are called the abyss of hell. It is the darkness that is everywhere, it is all consuming. It strangles you, slithers into your mouth and nose and slides down into your bronchial tubes until it reaches your lungs and it just keeps coiling right there until you can barely breathe any longer. Your breathe goes in and out in a whistle because that's all the blackness allows you to have. It won't kill you. Nooo, it won't... it has no mercy. Killing you would be too merciful. You wouldn't experience the pain. You wouldn't experience the suffocation. You wouldn't experience the desperation. You wouldn't experience the insanity of it all. Too merciful for this abyss; for this pit of darkness escape is pretty futile.
But I still think about it and I think about it a whole lot more when I am feeling as weak and powerless as I am right now. I am in a mixed episode and it's like fighting with myself.
I want out. I want to be rid of it all. The depression, the elation, the running at full blast and then slamming into the side of a barn with arms open wide and staring dead at it. I can feel the wood pierce my body, shatter against me and slide deeply under my skin. I can feel my heart slowing and everything and everyone around me now becomes slow motion...ah yes, it seems as if I impelled myself on a rather large and rusty nail. Looks like it nicked my defunct heart anyway. Is this my escape?! Elation leaps to the forefront of my brain, doing cartwheels and cheering, but soon she stops. Her curls droop down, her lip puckers out, and those tears start trailing down her face once more. The EMTs got here in time thanks to the heroic efforts to save me by Farmer Extraordinaire, Mr. Smith. Thank you Mr. Smith. I cry my own tears which drown out the cheerleader that lives in my head. She runs to hide. No, I will survive this again. I always fucking survive. It's such bullshit! It pisses me off to no end!
Let's talk about the responsibilities that I have. The love. That's all that keeps me here, tied to this eternal damnation that I can, for the most part, avoid all together, but it's tied to me, you understand. It's a fucking living, breathing, blood-sucking, energy sucking cow of a beast and it is always, ALWAYS fucking with me!!! It will try to come out and interrupt when I'm playing with my grandchildren or having a good time with the boys. It likes to try to come out when Darrin and I are having a good time. He has seen it. I don't think he realizes what it was that he was seeing, but unfortunately he DID see it. I don't want ANYONE to EVER see it. It's gruesome and it's a part of me. I hate it! If I could excise the beast I would gladly cut holes in my skin to pull it out. I have tried that before. I was younger and stronger then but I still lost. I would cut, it would just sink in deeper where I couldn't get to it. I tore my arms up a couple of times doing that.
I do hope, pray, and wish for peacefulness someday. Where I can close my eyes and I will no longer have to share my brain with them. They will be gone. Just a glimmer of it would be good. To actually be alone in my head. For the buzzing in my ears to be gone, all the voices, all the squabbling, all the direct commands that I must fight against so hard. It really does wear me out.
I still haven't talked about the responsibilities. I get a little afraid to openly discuss them. I have responsibilities to my husband, Darrin; my three sons, Dana, Steven, and Bobby; Stephanie, who has become **MY** daughter because her bio-mother is a joke and that is putting it lightly; my four grandbabies, Maddie, Xander, Mia, and Xanvier, my best friends, Heather and Annie; my furbabies Dana's furbabies, Steven's furbabies and Bobby's furbaby.
There's not a single person or furbaby on that list that I am willing to hurt. Not one. So that's the answer right there. I can't get this growth of the abyss off me due to my responsibilities. My loved ones. They're the ones I stick around for. I want to be a part of their lives. I want to see what wonderful and miraculous things are in store for them. More than ANYTHING, I want to see them all HAPPY and I don't want to see that growth of the fucking abyss on them!!
I strongly suspect that Bobby carries the abyss within himself as well. All the signs and symptoms are there and Bipolar doesn't just miraculously clear up when you hit a certain age, it just shows back up and fucks with you. He was self-medicating with Pot. Now it's alcohol. He's up to a six pack of tallboys each and every night.
I think the other two have it too. When Dana was a kid he was diagnosed (dx) with unipolor depression. Steven was dx'ed with ADHD. So they all have a touch of it and I am the one that gave it to them. I am so sorry that my disease reached out and bit my kids and infected them too. I wish like hell that I could fix that! But they learn to cope and to live and they're all doing okay.
I've ranted and raved enough. I'm starting to see shit so it's time for me to go. Peace to whomever took the time to read this. I'd love to read your comments below. Thanks!
Posted by
Stormy Rain Stevens
comments (0)
8/9/2015
I want to run away. I don't want to do this anymore. I don't want to deal with having Bipolar Disorder, Schizo-Affective Disorder, OCD, Intermittent Explosive Disorder, and the host of other disorders that I have been diagnosed with. Excuuuuuse me... with the exception of Schizo-Affective, it's all under "Bipolar Spectrum Disorder" now.
That's a crock of shit.
The disorders are their own. If a person suffers with OCD that doesn't automatically mean they have Bipolar Disorder. What the hell? I guess the doctors and nurses got tired of having to write ALL the disorders down and just put, "Bipolar Spectrum Disorder," in the blank space now. Lazy asses... every fucking one of them!
As of February 10, 2008 I have been diagnosed with the following:
Bipolar 1 with Ultradarian rapid cycling
Cyclothymia
Obsessive/Compulsive Disorder
Anxiety/Panic Disorder
Dissociative Identity Disorder (aka Multiple Personalities
Disorder)
Generalized Anxiety Disorder
Post Traumatic Stress Disorder
Agoraphobia
Extreme Arachnophobia
Intermittent Explosive Disorder
Dependent Personality Disorder
Seasonal Affective Disorder
Chronic Insomnia
Chronic Scoliosis
Degenerative Spinal Disease
Restless leg syndrome
Re-occurring Bronchitis
Rheumatoid Arthritis
Osteoarthritis
High Blood Pressure
Osteoporosis
Fibromyalgia
The last time I checked, the diagnoses starting with Chronic Scoliosis and going down on this list is NOT a *mind* thing like everything about above it is, therefore how the fuck would they justify putting that into my diagnoses of "Bipolar Spectrum Disorder?"
The last tdoc (therapist as in talk therapy) I had, when I handed her my "mental resume" told me, "Ah, you have Bipolar Spectrum Disorder, and all this STUFF just falls into that category. Well color me stunned. I just sat there and looked at her quite dumbfounded. That was the first time that I had heard that one. It was like she was saying, "Your disorders are no big deal, they're just part of having Bipolar." Um, no, I don't think so. I could feel the beginning of indignant rage building within me. My temples were already throbbing. But I made it through the Q&A first session with her. I decided that I would give her another chance, of course, I mean, you don't learn jack shit on your first visit. It's all too medically proper and way too short to actually get into anything.
The second time I seen her I was swimming in depression once again, she gave me worksheets to fill out.
The third time I seen her I was running just a little hypomanic, no cause for concern.
The last time I seen her I was full blown manic and so that was the first time SHE had seen me that way and her gut reaction was, "I think you need to stay in the hospital." Um, FUCK NO. So she suggests "a little halfway type of house you go to voluntarily where you can sign up for meetings and stay there if you want," There's another big FUCK NO. We all know what happens when you go into a place like that is SUPPOSED to be "voluntary," now don't we kids? Well, those of us that have gone inpatient know what it usually means.
To anyone reading this, I pray you NEVER have to go inpatient. It's not that they torture you or anything like that, seriously, most of the places actually are in place to help you, but for me at least, the whole inpatient thing has never been good for me. It gets me back to the point to where I can fake being well pretty good... good enough to get out, but yeah, just not a good fit for me anyway. Now I know other people who have been HUGELY SUCCESSFUL from going inpatient. They've had doctors, nurses, and other care givers who were just wonderful and actually helped them. It's just never been my own experience.
The second time I seen her I was swimming in depression once again, she gave me worksheets to fill out.
The third time I seen her I was running just a little hypomanic, no cause for concern.
The last time I seen her I was full blown manic and so that was the first time SHE had seen me that way and her gut reaction was, "I think you need to stay in the hospital." Um, FUCK NO. So she suggests "a little halfway type of house you go to voluntarily where you can sign up for meetings and stay there if you want," There's another big FUCK NO. We all know what happens when you go into a place like that is SUPPOSED to be "voluntary," now don't we kids? Well, those of us that have gone inpatient know what it usually means.
To anyone reading this, I pray you NEVER have to go inpatient. It's not that they torture you or anything like that, seriously, most of the places actually are in place to help you, but for me at least, the whole inpatient thing has never been good for me. It gets me back to the point to where I can fake being well pretty good... good enough to get out, but yeah, just not a good fit for me anyway. Now I know other people who have been HUGELY SUCCESSFUL from going inpatient. They've had doctors, nurses, and other care givers who were just wonderful and actually helped them. It's just never been my own experience.
Yeah, I hear you out there whispering it... "maybe it wasn't good for you BECAUSE of YOU, Stormy," and you're 100% correct in this assumption. Maybe it was me. Each and every time. Maybe it was me. Yeah, it was probably me. Yeah, it was more than likely me. Now that I really stop to think about it, yes, yes it was DEFINITELY me.
So anyway, I said no to the hospital and no to the "voluntary halfway house." Which, mind you, I suppose I got very lucky because all she would have had to do was to make a phone call and the fuckers would have come to my house and forcibly taken me to the hospital if I would have even gotten out of the building, to my car, and on my way quick enough. More than likely I would have been caught before even making it to the door, handcuffed, and led away by the men in the little white coats. But evidently she didn't call.
I have never called her office since then nor gone back. I want nothing to do with her. She sees me manic ONE time and she thinks she can accurately tell me what I need? Um, I don't fucking think so. Had I been seeing her for awhile, then yeah, maybe. Then she would have had the opportunity to see the different faces of me. Depression, hypomanic, hypermanic, dead inside, livin' large... me on that fucking pendulum of doom that I ride every day of my so-called life. Up into mania on one side, down into depression on the other side and every fucking thing else in between and it never ever stops and I'm never ever allowed to get off it. She still has my address and telephone number of course. But when I missed my last appointment with her, there was never a phone call. So ladies and gentlemen, it's safe to assume (and we all know what assume means, don't we?) that she cares even less than I do/did.
So anyway, I said no to the hospital and no to the "voluntary halfway house." Which, mind you, I suppose I got very lucky because all she would have had to do was to make a phone call and the fuckers would have come to my house and forcibly taken me to the hospital if I would have even gotten out of the building, to my car, and on my way quick enough. More than likely I would have been caught before even making it to the door, handcuffed, and led away by the men in the little white coats. But evidently she didn't call.
I have never called her office since then nor gone back. I want nothing to do with her. She sees me manic ONE time and she thinks she can accurately tell me what I need? Um, I don't fucking think so. Had I been seeing her for awhile, then yeah, maybe. Then she would have had the opportunity to see the different faces of me. Depression, hypomanic, hypermanic, dead inside, livin' large... me on that fucking pendulum of doom that I ride every day of my so-called life. Up into mania on one side, down into depression on the other side and every fucking thing else in between and it never ever stops and I'm never ever allowed to get off it. She still has my address and telephone number of course. But when I missed my last appointment with her, there was never a phone call. So ladies and gentlemen, it's safe to assume (and we all know what assume means, don't we?) that she cares even less than I do/did.
We all live/exist in these bubbles. Some people's bubbles are always bright and cheerful with parties going on inside them all the time, the owner of the bubble in the center just smiling, laughing and carrying on... then there are people who are just existing in their gray bubbles. they go to work, the take care of their families, they do what needs to be done, they just keep on keeping on, ya know? Then you see bubbles that are just bouncing every fucking where, off walls, off buildings in a single bound, just doing the fucking Tigger dance all the time, if you know what I mean... little kids have really excited bubbles like this...
Go to a public park where there is a fair amount of people, preferably one in the middle of a busy downtown district or something like that and just find a bench (bring a lunch!) and sit there and watch how people are living in their bubbles, you will see all the different kinds there really are...you'll know them when you see them too... oh look, there's a family oriented bubble, look at the crayon masterpieces that decorate the sides of it... oh, there's one who is really into his hobby of building and sailing his model boats... aw... there's a cute couple whose bubbles are so full of new love and wonderment... then you're going to see one sooner or later... you're going to see a black bubble. It's sitting off to itself, seemingly watching bubbles, just like you're doing, but that person doesn't even notice the bubbles... the life around him/her. The bubble is an unforgiving black. They can't see through it and no light gets in. It is darker than their world was before they were born and they are just there... they are only existing. They want, so bad, to pop their bubble and disappear from existence, but for one reason or a dozen others they just can't do it.
Depression has a grip on them. It's strangling them. It's trying it's best to kill them. Their bubble may turn a dark red. They still can't see out. They can only feel the Intermittent Explosive Disorder squeezing them... constricting around their chests like a Boa Constrictor constricts around its prey to kill and eat it. Their bubble may turn a dark gray where depression is overlaying a million and one other dreadful feelings that can't even be described, then the black reemerges and you see nothing again. If you go over and sit next to that black bubble you're likely to hear beating, banging, scratching, and screaming going on within it. You may even see it rip just a little bit but it quickly grows back over. Then the bubble floats away, low to the ground, scuffing against trees or walls or fences now and again. You see other bubbles subconsciously move out of it's way. There is no interaction. Other bubbles don't want to be near it. They let it go. They don't try to speak. They don't know why they just know they don't. Even the ones that do know and understand what it's about may shy away. They don't know what to do for that bubble. They don't know how to fix that bubble so they avoid it. Not out of malice, mind you, just out of survival instincts.
The black bubbles are bottomless. They are all-consuming. They are hard to clean off. Many pop of their own accord when they cand stand the blackness eating them alive any longer. Chomp! Chomp! Chomp!
Under the black of my bubble is a dark rainbow of colors. I am made to ride this pendulum in this bubble. Sometimes I want to pop my bubble and blink out of existence once and for all but I don't do that because I have other bubbles who are attached to me and I won't do that to them. It's been done to me and I wouldn't give that grief to someone I loved. But the black bars which surround my bubble, always threatening to close completely in, sometimes do. Sometimes they do and I keep wiping the blackness away. Sometimes I wish my bubble wasn't so fucking strong. They must have used industrial powered shit to make my bubble because I have stumbled through so many spikes of life that my bubble should have popped before I even became a toddler. My bubble wasn't even supposed to last this fucking long!
Dark, rambling thoughts from a mind who hasn't had the chance to let go of the grief and the relief I was given yesterday. My pendulum is fucking doing the loop de loop.
Posted by
Stormy Rain Stevens
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4/29/2015
I am alone, in the
midnight hour. Silence embraces me except for the lonely whistle of the train
as it lumbers slowly by on its way into darkness.
My mind is full of
racing thoughts. Most of them incoherent since they come and go so quickly.
Just when I begin to grasp one thought, a new thought rushes in and slams into
the other thought, ramming it out of the forefront of my brain and taking its
place. Shortly, the same thing will happen to it.
I can't focus and it
is infuriating! I try repeating the thoughts again and again, to keep the next
thought at bay, but to no avail. It bursts in like a solider in full riot gear,
screaming for attention, barking out commands. The thoughts are bullies. They
bully each other. They bully me. They batter my brain. They are beating me to
death. I want it to stop but am powerless to control them. I am at the mercy of
my mind.
I am trapped.
Chained to the cold, stone wall. The solid steel cuffs bite into my wrists and
ankles as they pull my extremities into four different directions. The archer
aims his arrow at my head. He pulls it back. He releases it. It crashes into my
mind like a wrecking ball. I struggle to take hold of it. To get what it has
injected into my head. Just as the mist is starting to clear and I can begin to
understand the thought, I am hit with
another one that splinters the first one. The process is repeated over and over
again. I am so exhausted. I hang there and just let the archer use my mind as
target practice. I don't even bother trying to grasp the thoughts he is
shooting into my head any more. There's no sense in trying. It bothers me
though. It bothers me a lot. Is my OCD showing?
I need a mind
recorder. Hook it into my brain so it can catch and record every thought so
that I can sort it all out during the day to make sense. Maybe there is
something useful in all these thoughts. I don't want to lose them. I wish they
made something like that. It might capture the rest of the novels that I have
been trying to write for years now. Maybe it would trap a new novel. Maybe it
would unleash ALL of my creativity. Maybe... Maybe. If only...
