Guts

I can't believe it has been almost five years since my last stay in a psychiatric hospital. Since then, the periodic whirlwinds of self destructive Bi Polar madness have continued to try and break me, yet somehow after slipping on my own guts, I have always managed to stuff them back in and sew myself up each and every time. I don't need my shrink to help sew me up, but it's nice that she keeps a first aid kit handy when she notices that I am dragging my guts on the floor!

A couple of questions I am frequently asked by various people are how have I been able to stay out of the hospital without traditional pharmaceutical treatments and medication, and why am I so against them?

The questions I brood upon even more frequently are how can I use something so paradoxical, and sometimes deadly to bring beauty, and hope into this world, or better yet in my own living room?  How can I  touch the hearts of many, or maybe even just one? I even wonder how am I going to be able to accomplish something that seems far-fetched and impossible? How can I beat this? Most importantly, do I believe that I can?
 
Then there are questions that not only seem to strike a nerve but jolts and singes them as well, leaving a scent like crisp burnt hair. Let's keep it real. How can someone as 'crazy' as I am raise a child to become a magnificent, capable person, someone better than me? I often wonder how am I ever going to pull this off? Can I help her see beyond Barbie? Can I seriously teach her to curb her own brand of 'Crazies'.

Twiggy is depending on me, her mother, to show her how to live and tap into her own happiness on this stupid-fucking-ball-of-dookie. How can someone like me possibly make a difference in her life? In any ones life? There is no doubt in my mind that I am absolutely, positively sure that I am crazy enough to try. The pressure is on like a ton of lead elephants.
  

Suck My Left One

In the last 20 years that I have spent living with Bi Polar Disorder(well gee, I suppose that's putting it mildly) , people (friends, family, and yes even Doctors!)have given me all sorts of brainless, cruel, cold, seriously silly, simply stupid, and awesomely absurd advice. They were either making poor attempts to somehow make me feel better, or they would just put their foot or any other foreign object in my ass hoping to knock the "crazies" out of me. Sadly, their attempts have totally failed.

Here are my thoughts on some of my least favorite bits of advice  I have heard over the last 20 years. I have envisioned these bits of advice morphing into filthy little cockroaches, falling out of your mouth to the floor, each one kissing the bottoms of my boots, going out with a CRUNCH instead of a BANG. How's that for some food for thought?

Monsters Inside Me

They say I'm really crazy. I am simply Bi-Polar. I assure you that it is anything but simple. It is an illness just like any other, yet most people see it differently or they just don't acknowledge Bi-Polar as an illness at all but as a weakness, a cop-out, or even a seriously lame excuse for poor coping skills, poor decision making, and insanely bad behavior.

I was 12 years old when I realized that something just wasn't quite right. I was 15 when my brain seemed to just explode, landing me my very first 3 month stay in a psychiatric ward. Although I felt a sense of relief, I had entered into a world way more chaotic than Bi-Polar could ever be ( more stories for the near future). It was the first time I have ever spent my birthday away from home. Since then, this has truly been an uphill battle.