Shout Out @ Politrixters

Look Politrixters I know you're there sneak reading all my secrets and I'm feeling some kind of way right now so I'm saying...like, LEAVE A LIKE OR A COMMENT!!

Now see I hate chastising the lot of you but I can SEE that you're there because I stay checking my Stats!! *side-eye*

But never a LIKE, never a Comment. Look I only bite if you ask me.
Talk to me, politrixiters. It gets lonely.

But if not I'm perfectly capable of talking to myself...

It would be nice is all....

UnTitled

Loneliness is an echo chamber playing the voices of fear, the enemy of one's self, the battles whose guns ricochet within the soft palate of the mind, binding insecurity to the ever present need for companionship, betrayed ~
it is the place where need is manipulated by despair and hope betrays solitude inside the soft bounderies of the mind where damage manifests as bruises, soft fruit with prints matching abuser's. 

and inside the storm is the eye of the warrior entrapped in the winds of time and turbulence
and the cyclone is the laugh of madness, murder in the warrior's mind where the turmoil saturates what was once peace sensory bliss. in the storm you fight and learn to spit upon base cowardice.

I do not fear, I do not quiver in the storm. Lonesomeness girds me tight on its harness, sound regrets among the fallen. Notes captured by me which now I own for my cause - I cannot be destroyed I live inside my Self - I own these grand reverberations ~ I am chaos embedded within the storm, a careless power from the void emerged, and born flinty like glint of iron ore junked in the veins beneath the skin only so much restless dust
In my mind I roam meander wander in uncharted territory ever forbidden to the Others who cannot cross past the revolutions of pressure as I do

This is chaos the enemy artificial order where others sit gluttonous
Saturated in promises, slick from regret
while I dance and roar and make a friend of the rain

Living in Low Lighting/Thoughts of Home(lessness)

Living In Low Lighting: Thoughts of Home(lessness)

I cracked a tooth last year. I cracked it and it’s just gone. I couldn’t get it fixed,  because…I couldn’t make it out of the house (but insurance would have damn sure been an incentive). I just…couldn’t make myself leave. And now, living in a homeless shelter away from those people and places that make Home I spend a lot of time looking at myself, but only in low and dusky lighting where the image myself is softer with three weeks from my 39^th birthday things are less stark in the dusk, dimmer than pain and devoid of the cruelty of the sun’s truth which in its truth  deplores dishonesty. The low lighting is in my mind because now I must leave home because it’s where I live, homeless and among strangers.

Winter is no longer coming; it is here at my not home where time is passing slowly and in a place I hope for the light to end sooner since that means I am closer to sleep when I don’t have to see my broken tooth and I don’t feel its bite. When you find yourself washed into the rapids, cold and alone there’s first the belief that someone beloved, some friend or even an interested compassionate stranger will soon fish you out. But something prevents this from happening as I’ve seen. 

This isn’t only my story but the story of so many other  women I’ve met in this six months of dizzy hell.

My first shock was that I wasn’t surrounded by dirty women in black trashbags who screamed incoherently and darkly within their own cautiously lit private abodes of the mind: in fact, probably 90% of the women with whom I’ve shared this homeless space are middle class. Suburban housewives, former soccer moms, women who work jobs, often two or more but still unable to afford housing. There are plenty of women who are down and out drug addicted and alcoholic or who suffer from some form of debilitating mental illness that is a familiar codependent in their solitary drifting lives. But it’s these forgotten women who make up the working poor, not layabouts, just women trying to make it and failing because the system is rigged against them.

I’m here because I suffered a nervous breakdown, a bipolar episode that sent me reeling from depression and manias stealing my ability to work, to pay bills, to care for myself sending me down the rapids of waste and want to eviction and to…this place.

 The dark place that is always poorly lit because no one cares enough to light the dark.

Of course the low lighting is merely nature because even God’s winter sky hides the sun 

It’s like waking up to graded homework with an F but every single day. Every day. The truth that no one will tell you is that if you feel alone it is because you are alone.

The truth casts a certain beautyl in its frightfulness. And it is invisible to all those who are not stripped down to the very aloneness made by God himself. You are naked and alone, a pavement dweller with only your own self for company: this is the truth that all you are is contained within flesh and viscera and to utilize its possibilities one has to come to the understanding of that Self: you are nothing except that which you were made, a soul.

Nighttimes are long. You spend the day waiting for night and quiet and at the end of the day there is no sleep.

Into this life we come alone

to be fed upon myth of kin and kith and hearth and home

tis naught but a tale grown folk ought be too canny than belief

for still art thou alone comest daytime's eve

tis no riddle

nor glass darkly

if you would but see

the 

heart

doth

beat

that 

you 

may

bleed

i

- See more at: http://politrixie.blogspot.com/2015/04/hallway-echoes-at-roadway-inn-easter.html#sthash.CTqOdkfl.dpuf

Oh Yes He Is!

Correction: Robert Downey Jr is bipolar.

Tell me, I don't know how to call 'em. I totally always wanted to be his best friend.

Call me, Robert. The wife never has to know.

Stigma Stigmata

It's interesting the reactions I get when telling people that I am bipolar - from friends, family and strangers. Typically the first response I'm given is "No you're not: there's no such thing!" However, since I have been through many, many assessments at this point, and since I'm the one on the wild waves of manic and depressive episodes I know this to be false. I go through the meaning of the mood disorder that I'm still learning about only to get stern faces and furious headshakes. "That's something the doctors invented to excuse people's bad behavior. There's no such thing really. I don't believe in it." Generally I let the doubters alone because frankly who gives a shit, they're not paying my psychiatrist after all.

But the stigma is real and powerful. Everyone automatically assumes you must be Robert Downey Jr. in your madness. (Note: I have no evidence that Robert Downey Jr. is bipolar. I'm just saying that if you want to stereotype a self-medicating, uncontrollable bipolar individual a la Richard Gere's performance in Mr. Jones then RDJ's former antics also make a good stereotype even without RDJ being a true bipolar. Get it? Anyway.) You couldn't actually find a more seemingly together, cautious, level headed personality than me. You could but just allow me my exaggerations for the moment. I'm talking about stigma here and the judgments made by bystanders are simply rife. It's like the worst diagnosis that others can think of for a loved one - "You cant be one of those." If I said I was gay people would be shocked but they'd be less nasty to my face I think. And there's nothing wrong with gay but in our society mental illness is viewed as one of the great taboos.. No one wants to talk about it, no one wants to know about it; type that equal to or double for being gay.

It's in the way people look at you. Literally. That searching look people give me as consideration of every crazy thing I've ever hinted. "Well she's a creative type and you know about those. I don't think she's gay. But she could be just crazy." Because gay is crazy these days, you know. Still. Who has mental illness pride though? I don't. I'm still trying to figure it all out but I've got plenty of genetic predisposition. I was initially type as a major depressive, a huge mistake since all the antidepressants they shoved down my throat caused the undiagnosed bipolar disorder to become worse and spiral out of control in an ever increasing manner from breakdowns occurring more frequently and more severely to making symptoms more noticeable finally resulting in a near complete withdrawl from the world.

 I haven't been able to work in years, I went from being an ambitious woman marked for the higher echelons of academia - or whatever I wanted to be frankly - to sitting in dark rooms permanently. And no one knew. No one knew I'd broken that completely. People suspected but no one could know entirely because I didn't let them. From not working and sitting in quiet dark rooms I soon couldn't get out of bed. But talking to friends and loved ones on the phone or through Facebook can't reveal the horrors holding a person to an invisible prison and damned if I'd let anyone know. My mother knew but she had so much to do to keep me alive and in that bed that without insurance she was lucky to keep me alive.

So slowly and surely I lost friends who couldnt seem to make me focus on the worldly and fun elements of life. Family members avoided the weird vibe I kept exerting.

And the loneliness was fine with me - quiet was essential. Bipolar disorder won.

I've never been so far away from home or so helpless in my personal security but falling out of my home, my security got me help. So the stigma, the strange looks I ignore. I'm alive. I survived. I was bleeding out, sometimes in plain sight and I should by all rights be dead. I'm still bleeding but there's a tourniquet now. That's all.

When The Doubters Come Be Gone...Stay Free

(Don't Let Others Rule Your Life with Doubts about Your Truth.)

Because When  They Come For Me I'll Be Gone...

Stop Talking and Try to Catch Up Muthafuckas

Call My Lovers By Their Names

 Fuck you I love Duran Duran forever. Also this song is simply aural sex.