Free-fall

Standing at the top
My knees suddenly buckle
All the certainty and hope
It flows from me in salty tears
I know, suddenly, what is happening
I am losing my peace,
And as quickly as it had come
It is leaving me again

I lie crumpled, wrinkled at the highest peak
And slowly feel my body tip over the edge
It starts at a slow tumble
But my bones are all broken
And my head is not attached
The laws of physics take over
I roll more and more quickly down the slope

Midway, my body meets a patch of thorny branches
And I am punctured, deflated further
Now an unrecognizable rag doll
Toppling down from a height she did not appreciate
Nearly as much as she should have,
Especially knowing this exact fall from grace
Was bound to happen, as it always does.

Pretending to Believe

There are three reasons I am coping today:

1) Coffee

2) LarBear

3) Kizzie

4) Lucy

Okay, so liquid brainpower, my boyfriend, and my two dogs are the only reasons that I am hanging onto a shred of sanity.  A very tenuous hold on the shred of sanity, I might add.

I have been up, up, up in the clouds lately.  Feeling like nothing could go wrong, like my world is in perfect order, like bipolar disorder had taken a vacation and left me with something that I laughingly call “recovery.”  My friends, there is just no such thing.  One does not “recover” from a severe and persistent mental illness.  One battles it on a day-to-day basis, one does not graduate into a life where there are no symptoms.

At least, that’s what I believe.  Today has been really rough.  There has been a lack of sleep thing going on for the past, hmmm, several months, and it is catching up with me.  I spent the entire day in tears, had to cancel all of my appointments, and, in general, I was forced into hibernation.

Right now, it’s been three minutes since the tears stopped, and they are starting back again, now that I am thinking about them again.  I refuse to let today ruin the progress that I have made lately, and I choose to believe that tomorrow might be a better day.  One day full of crying does not an episode make.  Of that, I am living proof

So, I will do what I know to do.  I will blog and I will journal and pet my dogs and ignore my phone and watch some trashy TV and read my book.

I will wake up in the morning and things will be all right again, I won’t be crying, and I can resume my precarious journey through this recovery thing that I don’t really believe exists, but that maybe one day I might believe in a little, if I just keep trying.