You know what they say:

If it ain't broke don't fix it.

You know what they say:

When in Rome.

You know what they say:

Absence makes the heart grow fonder.

But I am broke,

And I can't fix it.

I'm not in rome,

I'm a stranger in my own home.

Five feet shouldn't

An Absence.

I don't want to push you

Pull you

Drag you

Through all my thoughts

Colors

Trauma.

I want you to love me

Hold me

Love me

Through my rainbow

Why are there so few hours in the day? My manic self tells me that taking 16 college credits, changing jobs, starting work study, raising 4 kids, and doing field experience is fine. I am fucking incredible! My depressed self wants to kill my manic self. My stable self is highly concerned about both of my other selves.

WHY does Bipolar disorder

have to disrupt my entire life?

WHY does manic me

get to call the shots?

WHY does depressed me have to

cash the checks

that manic me can’t cash?

Why can’t stable me

call the shots once in awhile?

I would like to spend one day in the head of myself where stable me calls the shots and the other selves are copesthetic and everything is fine and dandy, and feelings feel appropriate for a situation and the thoughts don’t have to run so fast, and focusing on one of the 47 projects I started this week got finished and the anger and rage that “good morning” and “Love you!” didn’t feel so strong because maybe, just maybe they actually mean it.

Eeyore or Tigger

depression,

hallucinations,

pills,

doctors.

Creativity flows,

manic pixie energy.

I need sleep.

Love isn't patient or kind.

It doesn't conquer all,

and it definitely isn't blind.

sometimes kissing and making up isn't the solution,

and sometimes it is best to just walk away.

Love definitely DOES NOT mean

never having to say your sorry.

Love isn't butterflies and sweet dreams,

and happily every after.

Sometimes love is knowing you can't be together.

Sometimes love is laughing until you cry.

Or crying until you laugh.

Love is not accepting people for who they are,

but growing together.

Talking into the wee hours of the morning.

Sometimes love is mourning.

Love is fast and hard, and slow,

and no matter the measure it always leaves you wrecked.

Commitment.

Love is making the commitment to do what's best for you both.

Walking away, or making it work.

I was 19. Working 40 hours in a convenience store, and the other 40 hours managing a Domino's. Domino's was my first job, I had been there for three years already. That was where I met the first love of my life.

Everyone told us not to be together. When I started I was 16 and he was 23. I was "jail bait" as all the guys there liked to call me. I was the youngest person there. So we never got together. We would smoke a lot of weed, do some coke, and drink like we were going to live forever. We would hook up but that was fine.

Until he got a girlfriend. A serious moving in together girlfriend.

We stayed friends. Would still drink, and smoke, and hook up. I didn't see a problem with it. We were together first.

But this isn't a story about him. It just is needed to framework when me and my husband got together. When we met.

I wanted more. I wanted more from the man I thought I loved, and he wasn't willing to give me that. I was a side piece. I was allowing him to have his cake, and eat it too.

One day I was working at the convenience store. My husband lived in the apartment building across the street. He came into the store, and I couldn't tell you what he said, but he made me laugh. HARD!

It doesn't take much to win me over. You make me laugh and I am a sucker. We spent the next week smoking weed in the cemetery behind the convenience store. He was 33.

At the end of the week, after feeling like I was finally number one to someone, I decided I was done.

I called up my best friend, and told him I couldn't see him anymore. I was done being second fiddle, and I found someone who made me happy.

We had only known each other for all of a week.

That was eleven years, and two kids ago. I tell him all the time that he was probably the WORST one night stand I ever had.... considering it has been a one night stand that lasted eleven years.

I don’t want to be a woman or a man.

I want to be me.

I collect Hot Wheels and comic books,

and was made fun of because only “boys like those”

which wasn’t true.

I was a girl.

I liked them.

I collect make-up.

books.

I wouldn’t want to be a man.

the unrealistic toxic traits they are judged for.

Money.

Power.

Physique.

Happy.

That’s what I want to be.

Why are there so few hours in the day? My manic self tells me that taking 16 college credits, changing jobs, starting work study, raising 4 kids, and doing field experience is fine. I am fucking incredible! My depressed self wants to kill my manic self. My stable self is highly concerned about both of my other selves.

WHY does Bipolar disorder

have to disrupt my entire life?

WHY does manic me

get to call the shots?

WHY does depressed me have to

cash the checks

that manic me can’t cash?

Why can’t stable me

call the shots once in awhile?

I would like to spend one day in the head of myself where stable me calls the shots and the other selves are copesthetic and everything is fine and dandy, and feelings feel appropriate for a situation and the thoughts don’t have to run so fast, and focusing on one of the 47 projects I started this week got finished and the anger and rage that “good morning” and “Love you!” didn’t feel so strong because maybe, just maybe they actually mean it.

Damn It, Jim! I'm a Doctor, not a physicist!

Okie Dokie.

Whatever floats your boat.

Oh, snap!

Whatever is clever.

Do you think penguins taste like chicken or fish?

Hey, slut bag!

I love your face!

Oh my god! This character in my book just said “insert quote”

Tomatoes are an abomination!

I just want to cry.... and go to sleep.

Can I quit my job yet?

....yeah.....