What love is (or isn’t)
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.
Love is making the commitment to do what's best for you both.
Walking away, or making it work.
The day we met
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.
I wouldn’t want to be a man.
the unrealistic toxic traits they are judged for.
That’s what I want to be.
A Day in the Life
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.
Things That I might Say
Damn It, Jim! I'm a Doctor, not a physicist!
Whatever floats your boat.
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?
Where do I begin and end?
My brain has been bouncing around in an uncontrolable ball of squiggly feelings.
Why am I so sad?
Why can't I be happy?
Why does my brain chemistry have to be so much different from everyone else?
I hate the overwhelming feeling that squiggles bring. However, they have become the only and oldest friend I have. I can't remember a time when the tidal wave of thoughts and feelings didn't ravish my emotional body.
Letting everyone down is all I have ever done. I remember my mom telling me my senior year of highschool, after my second suicide attempt that she "would just thank God if I could graduate". Hell, "second suicide attempt" says it all. I couldn't even kill myself correctly. The squiggles make sure to remind me of that.
In a never ending loop of one. Two. Three. Four. After the fourth time I just gave up.
Those moments of clarity that jump rope between my bipolar mind reminds me that I miss them. I never understood why. I guess when you have major depression, and tend to swing that way on the bipolar teeter totter, when those feelings aren't there it makes you nervous.
When my squiggles are gone, I constantly feel like i'm walking on egg shells. waiting for the pin to drop. Things are going too good. something has to go wrong...It has to be one of the most parasitic one sided relationship I have ever been in...
I am trying to think of more books to read. and If anyone out there has any sort of recomendations I would appreciate it.
For 2021 here is what I've read so far:
1. The Dresden Files
2. the Last Wish
Sword of Destiny
Season of storms
Girl, Wash Your Face
His Dark Materials
A is For Ox
Shadow and Bones Series
Six of Crows
La Llarona: and other tales of the midwest ( if you don't know about La Llarona my Abuela traumatized me with this story as a child)
I need more to read!!!
We were just starting our day in fourth grade. Me and my cousin went to the same school, in the same grade, in the same class. we were watching the "morning announcements" and then all of a sudden they were gone. We heard the crackle of the intercom, and they made an announcement I can't recall now. My then uncle came to pick us up from school. My Grandma grabbed my brothers.
I remember my auntie crying and the news playing on and on and on...
The first tower...
The second tower...
I remember sitting at the little breakfast bar in her home, with my cousin. We didn't fully understand what was happening but constantly heard the word "attacked". I remember being scared. I remember people scared they were going to attack our capital building.
I remember going back to school, and the xenophobia our best friend faced because her dad was from Iran. I remember a teacher telling her that her dad was a terrorist. And I remember the rest of us not understanding why everyone was treating her so badly.
My room is my happy place. It is a chaotic tornado of everything that has ever made me happy. I have spent years filling my home with love, and happiness, but my room is my safe space. The pictures I drew, what seems like forever ago, collected on the walls. Photographs of my children, and my own minor accomplishments ( and failures) hung sporadically around the room.
Miss Piggy, and Kermit the frog sit on my head board, forever in love, just like we always wanted to be. Hot Wheels cars lining the window, because yes I am 12, and yes, they still make me happy 17 years later.
Geoffrey, the skeleton that helped me pass anatomy and physiology hangs in a corner of the room, right next to the closet that I hung a giant zombie tapestry over. My land lord is a dick, and I still can't get doors on my closet. My comic book collection sits on my husbands side of the bed. I'm running out of space, and I need to get more boxes. but the stories always get better, and wednesday's are always new comic book days.
My computer sits in there, and my playstation, my switch, and my N64. No one will play nintendo 64 with me anymore, they say it looks too old, but sometimes my brother will still stop by and play bomberman with me. I never get tired of that game.
My favorite books line the shelves on my bed. Neverwhere, The jungle, Poems to Read to the Very Young. I love them so.
This is my happy place.
I have seen it all.
I watched you grow from a basketball with eyes, cooing at yourself in my reflection.
Into a strong independent little girl, standing strong in her karate gi, and her dads cowboy boots.
I watched you stand in front of me for hours, ashamed of the budding body that you were cursed with. Wanting to comfort you after that girl called you a slut, because you were friends with a boy she liked. I wasn't much comfort... I only made it worse.
I watched you dress up in dark black, and paint yourself in makeup to mask your insecurities. And I've seen the blood drip from your wrists when the bullying and depression became too much for you to handle.
I watched you smile, basking in the glory of the wedding dress, and the happily ever after. I've seen the sadness wash over your face, as your body morphed through pregnancies.
Now I watch your basketballs with eyes, morph into strong independant little people.
I have seen it all.