And Sadly I’m Still Here.

​I wish I had

A word erased for every one that got caught

For every thought I can’t shake an opposite;

Some cheap balm for useless wounds.
To erase letters to replace 

Single letters stacked before 

De words:

Disrepair and

Drink up,
I have a minute left to pretend so I’ll spill words:

Fresh paint

Stale soul
Roll thickly the layers so that they’ll replace 

Cover over and fill in all my gaps

Dry bubbles permanent craters against my skin

As desperate as I wait to be erased

And replaced by words in my cotton ears:
De-I’ll never do it again,

De-I didn’t mean it,

De-you’re the only one in my world.

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the back & forth.

there’s two of them, inside my head, but that’s great — before i only thought there was one. but i can see clearly — the only way hypomania will let me, of course — that there’s two.

the louder one is the worst. even when it whispers it’s as if it’s standing thisclose to the microphone; so it’s all i hear. and i know it lies, it’s wrong all the time & it’s always full of excuses (just like me). this is the one that comes alive most often, the one i’ve been sharing an apartment with for the last year & a half. Continue reading

add or activate.

if you could flip the mania on like a switch:
florescent daylight before 5am,
scrubbed-clean-white-sterile —
a little unfocused but steady &
feeling like skipping lettrs.

flip on all the words to make sense —
clarity sears like hot sparks
burning in,

leaving their mark.

briefly it is all too much;
& much too wonderful.

i need to save it, to keep it
in imaginary strands.

i am desperate for an empty page
to spill the racing mind
but even my hands are stunned;
twelve sentences for every.. disjointed one i write —
here then gone in the same second,

like a hummingbird at the glass.

in my minds eye i grab on, both fists,
wrapping my arms up in understanding & form
typing useless lettrs in an effort to never forget

the things that have suddenly started making sense

once misinterpreted but now without blame
insight exists in stunning form: glittering & gold.

almost as if a test:
to know this, & believe it for a suspicious second
even knowing in a moment i’ll be back to before
where the lessons sound chalky
& just fall flat,

pushed away with a single utterance of bullshit
whispered, quiet, under the breath.

& that’s all it takes;

tendrils of truth drip off my arms &
almost as if imagined,
they ceased to exist;
& suddenly i am here again:
the reality that stings,
the thing that runslikethis & nevershutsup.

suddenly

all my sense of self in separate bags,

floating off on balloons & strings.
i don’t have enough hands, or fingers that don’t slip,
so i am kinda screwed,
but it hurts too much to care.

wondering,

why is it that
the only time my mind is clear
is when my body’s blurry.

my mathematics said what? (gluten IS addicting, but what’s worse than that it’s in EVERYTHING, even raw/precut/fresh local supermarket veg))

i did some math. i am really bad at math (probably because of my inability to think rationally ;), so i needed to use my phone calculator. but the numbers scared me so much more: blinking dull grey on an even-duller-grey background: 12.2.

my previously-written numbers were the same; my math wasn’t wrong; i had figured it — out just those numbers sounded so… off.

12.2. or 12.2%, should i say: the percentage of my body weight i’ve lost in the last 2 years. & 60% of that has been in the last 4 months.

because of celiac disease. seriously. & it scares me, so much. so, for lack of a better term, fuck this. this is my resolution, my confession; i confess to do all the following & i confess it will be hard as hell. but who am i kidding, i am the all-or-nothing type.

i’ve just pre-dated the next two months on my calender, for anniversaries,

of the weeks in which i will not consume ANY gluten:

  • NOT by “this product is made in a facility that processes wheat”
  • NOT by “this product may contain wheat”
  • NOT by cross-contamination
  • NOT by restaurants that don’t get how strict my gf needs are
  • PROBABLY NOT by restaurants at all (let’s be honest, i have trust issues)
  • NOT by “oh, i already opened this MadeInAFacility item, but i can’t waste it…”
  • NOT by the “glutenfree!/made in a facility that contains wheat”
  • NOT by “oh my look at how delicious that chocolate/cherry cupcake looks”
  • NOT by “well, i haven’t cheated on my diet in 2 months & this questionable meal is convenient….”

and

  • if it’s packaged without a GF circle badge, NOT BUYING
  • if it’s a supermarket-style pre-wrapped, no label pre-meal, NOT BUYING
  • if it’s been processed in any way prior, NOT BUYING

i am beyond tired of accidentally/sometimes intentionally glutenbombing myself on a weekly+ basis. i’m four days from FULLY GLUTEN FREE, but i cheated twice with whey last two days & my symptoms are still intense. i want this wheat, these gluten-toxins OUT of my body, so i can begin to physically repair 27 years of intestinal damage. i want to stop getting lax with my diet & thinking things “won’t hurt”. i am too sensitive for that bs; i physically can’t. it is destroying my body AND my mind. i want to eat at least 2500 calories a day, every single day. and i want to do it without feeling terrible after, far too stuffed. i want my moodswings to be permitted to happen completely separate from the physical symptoms i am experiencing due to my celiac disease.  in a lot of ways i’m lucky; celiac disease supersucks, but at least i can fix/repair my system by just not-eating-a-certain-thing(s). i’m grateful i don’t have anything that requires medication — we all know i have enough medication-needing-thingies without adding on another one. i realize healing will take time, but i’m especially impatient because i thought i had ‘started’ treating this back last august. to know that it’s only been one week is pretty shitty. i want to be able to do more physical exercise without getting short of breath so quick, i want to be able to run & dance again, i want to dance so badly. i guess i want to fix my anemia, fully-perma-fix, none of this perpetual-fixing with iron tablets that don’t really work & an intestinal system that won’t absorb worth, well, shit. i have my humour & the rest of my life & i am willing to wait, but i want these things more than anything.

heh, quite the change from hypomania’s ‘wanting new jeans’, which coincidentally i have, if only because i’ve lost weight.

extending the olive branch.

seeing my psychiatrist in a little over an hour. psychiatrist. despite my diagnosis & my absolute inability to function at anywhere even close to a ‘normal’ level for the last … two/three/four? years, i still feel a little hesitation using that word; it feels wrong. psychiatrist? my psychiatrist. i say it with a laugh, or in a joking voice — humour — my favorite coping device. pretty much one of the only ones i have, let’s be honest. well, one that isn’t completely self-destructive. denial, my favorite friend. Continue reading

poetry therapy.

dedicated to one of my wordpress friends 🙂

not sure from where they have come
but suddenly into existence
in bold lettering;
the scribbles i couldn’t speak —

slipping,

spilling out
in a clatter of click-clicks,
composing monotone music on these computer keys.

the release is like draining without plunging —
the depths of soul exposed;
tragedy broken down
into
thoughts that stay on these pages
& allow me to leave.