playing with trains.

i am going to tell you something i’ve never told anyone before. one night last year, when i left at 1230 in the morning and didn’t come back until after 3, i was going to end it. i had decided to walk to the traintracks and get pegged off by a train. i decided to do this and decided if i wasn’t meant to die then there would be a sign in the time it takes me to walk to the traintracks & wait for a train. and i decided that i would wait by the tracks & if i happened to change my mind in the time it took the train to get here, then okay. i was in a selfdestructive mindset and put the choice of whether i carqed or not into the universe.

two things happened that night, before i found my train.

i got a phone call, randomly, from an old friend i hadn’t spoken to in ages. you know how rare it is for me to get phone calls, but she called as i was walking. and we talked as i sat & waited for my train. i didn’t tell her what my plan was, & only briefly mentioned that i was upset, but we had a nice bitch sesh. when she went to bed a random old guy out for a walk took her place. i think he felt obligated to see how i was as i was sitting alone. we talked for half an hour; him about his troubles with his wife & college-aged son, and me about.. nothing, really. i talked about stupid fluff bullshit & didn’t even notice the strangeness of the scenario; two strangers sharing a moment & a park bench at 3am. it’s surprising how candid you can be when you think you only have a couple hours or so to spare.

we were still talking when i heard the horn of my train; so loud i could feel it. my train. my two sides fought internally as i sat a lot stiller than i felt. i contemplated running, leaving the man of the night and climbing the fence and finding the tracks. there wasn’t much time to decide.

the man, oblivious to the reality he’s sitting next to, continued to ramble on about his insomnia and how it gets too hot in his apartment so he likes to walk at night, when it’s quiet, when he can think.

i decided i couldn’t leave a witness other than the anonymous train conductor. i figured even in my fucked up state i couldn’t give someone who took a minute to talk to me the image of all of me splattered against concrete & hot steel so instead i turned towards the train & watched it pass.

i swear i could feel it chugging in my veins.

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i didn’t want anything either, until the day i did.

you were incessant & i was bored
manic
with a couple hours off.

you drove
45 minutes to come see me
or was it fifteen?
going 200km on your bike
like you did
when you were late leaving me
the next morning.

still remember the parking lot you met me in, again,
i with drink in hand
yellow eyeliner, gold glitter
and carefully planned casualness
saw you pull up & my heart didn’t even jump
because i hadn’t yet to know —

you coming over i all judgmental
instantly hating your sunglasses
& figuring this was going to be like
any other sunday

until i saw your eyes

& i
watched all my inhibitions disappear up, up, up
like white exhaust in blue skies.

back from the abyss. (running away with cognitive distortions & intrusive negative thoughts)

five days on, five days off. like clockwork.

DISCLAIMER: ironic that i titled this ‘back from the abyss’. it’s probably the worst post i’ve written. possibly triggering, probably triggering. & it’s a long one. read at your discretion. and damn it, one of these days i’ll learn to stop apologizing. this is my blog, after all, but knowing i have some followers now makes me feel guilty for bringing the negativity. feeling guilty for wasting your time on my blog about dealing with bipolar. as if you couldn’t just click away if you didn’t want to read. as if a BLOG ABOUT BIPOLAR wasn’t going to be brutal & raw on occasion. who ever thought my guilt would overshadow my anxiety? wow, a new low. welcome to my horror show:

i think i could deal with being bipolar & celiac & generally disordered a lot easier if it wasn’t for this crippling constant guilt. for the first time last week, i felt dangerous. a threat to myself. the suicidal thoughts have always been constant — but most of the time i can watch them & half-ass justify them away; although they don’t leave, my rational mind is strong enough to know they’re symptoms of bipolar/anemia/up-until-now-untreated celiac/depression/pms/etc & not me really wanting to die. because i don’t. i just want the pain to stop. but not enough to do anything drastic. the guilt prevents that. but damn, fighting my mind is a fulltime job — no days off.
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to medicate or not to medicate, that is the question…

i’ve been sitting on a script for seroquel for almost a year now. when it was first written i wasn’t sure if i was willing to give up the hypomania for it. it’s been almost a year & i’m still not sure, but the hypomania hasn’t come back with the intensity that it did before, so i am getting tired of waiting.

my hypomanias now are markedly different since i made the mistake of taking an antidepressant — way more anxiety & delusions. i’ve been forced into constantly self-medicating & barely living as it is. is it worth being clean from medications if i can’t leave the house? the thought of me holding a job is laughable. oh, how far i’ve fallen.

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