Facing Disaster

I find the years have blurred the fragments of my memory. Some, I recall with vibrant detail. The rest, the things forgotten such as the names I need prompted to recall, the faces that seem familiar, but have no spark of recognition beyond that, frighten me with this revelation. How long has it been, since more then a trigger or something lodged with a visual to go along with it, has prompted me to remember a darn instance?

That is an absolutely terrifying insight to my own life thus far.

I recalled every shard of a sharp word, every bruise, and every injury that I was awake for or even told of. It is much harder to recall times of joy, of peace, or of happiness, before I met the significant other in my life six years ago. Heck, I still have nightmares of the before on the rougher days. There’s salt to having that many wounds for anyone, it’s no wonder that they don’t heal.

How ever, fear has been replaced¬† by a soft calm. It’s not dependency, but the capacity to find yourself in surprise. For in an seeming instant, you find yourself trusting this other person beyond the point of your ability to believe it. But, yet, one doesn’t question such a truth when it is returned so whole – heart by the other one who has received your confidence.

I have a long journey. Where it will end I do not know, where it began, I will never be free of. But, while I cannot escape the past, I no longer run from it. There’s that at least, when you face the disasters you’ve survived through. Stubborn natures give you the need to fight against all odds, and sometimes it helps you live long enough to find hope again.

I won’t lie. Time is patient, but you might not be. There’s a deterrent that you might struggle with in yourself, an ache that pulls you away from your needs, from what you need. Depression isn’t always the reason, nor is anger at the world. But the blood spilt, the tears cried, and crushed soul remember. All I can be honest about is it is not easy. It will never be easy. But, it is possible to build something from nothing, to begin, to have a place, or a purpose. No queasy, sappy, despair free lives exist for those in my situation. How ever, I find myself loved, and loving, as I am facing a fight, but different kind then what I’m used to.

It is not the past. It is not the future. It is the present and what we do with it, that defines who we will be tomorrow, as we look on this day as behind us then.

The New Beginning

My mind is active all the time. It always has been. Unlike with other people, or so I’m told and have seen thus far, my mind has no stopping point. There’s no seeming way to shut down the process. It is as ceaseless as the ever present cycles of each year. There is something natural and yet unnatural about this endless pattern. It is both a constant comfort at times, while a hindrance as well. When I sleep, I dream of many things. When I awake, I am right back to a hundred thoughts. More to madness, I’ve been told.

I am not crazy. Despite what most seem to think when they learn of this mindset or my diagnosis of having Bipolar. This was placed upon me by several psychiatrists. Perhaps, my differences or so called ‘illness of the mind’, is what blinds me to see why my sense of normal is so wrong. Perhaps, it is also why I am justifying that some consider me crazy, because I do not adhere to society’s accepted standards.

There’s a wheel that turns forever, and things will be forever locked to it. But, regardless of what others or so – called experts on the matter have decided, it is not impossible for me. I can be loved, respected, and do what I must to be a person who takes care of what needs doing, as well as values herself. On the same hand, how ever, in this very moment, every ounce of me retaliates to what I am expected to do, and need to do at times.

I can clean my house a thousand instances over, re-organize it a hundred different ways but it goes back to the mess in my mind. Today, I realized by not caring as I should for this home, or my past homes, that I have become trapped in this net of my own making. I neglect myself, neglect my body, and my own confidence by not taking better care. – Of not just myself, but my home.

I am taking responsibility today for not doing so, by beginning to work on scrubbing everything. Beginning with my house, then into other matters. This is so my health, my self – care can be better. It’s a destructive life, to myself, that I didn’t want to admit. I was avoiding the truth because I didn’t want to see, didn’t want to see that I needed to change.

Pushing most away may have given me perspective, but I hurt and used a lot of people, including myself, in that I’ve harmed those that care for me by giving them a real reason to act, even if it hurt me at times. I’m done pretending to be something I was not. I’m ready to admit that I need some help to have the life I want, and more then that, that I know I am capable of doing. How ever, I have yet to have done so rightfully, in a way that is healthy for all.

It is not that I’m not able to be responsible. It was that I was choosing things to avoid having to be more responsible. I didn’t feel ready to tackle the world. Instead, I had myself terrified of it, even as I encouraged my friends and dear ones to not be. I had deluded myself enough to act like these things were going to be okay, because I could stop any time I wanted. But, I never stopped. The mess never ended. So, it ends now.