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The Lie
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The Dark Side of Me
As I've mentioned on my home page, I've been diagnosed with a Bipolar Disorder. I think I've been mostly cyclothemic, which is a mild form of Bipolar. The mood swings aren't as extreme as with the full-blown disorder. But I think Kay Redfield Jamison was correct about the connections between the bipolar disorder and poets which she explained in her book, Touched with Fire: Manic-Depressive Illness and the Artistic Temperament. Since I was in 5th grade, studying poetry, I've been writing my own. I actually wrote a short story in 4th grade. None of those have survived the years, but I know that's when it started. Same as my mood swings, if my memory serves me correct.
To the right is one of the earliest poems I wrote that I've been able to keep. I'm almost sure it was written in 1986, but I can't be entirely sure. It was during my turbulent teen years. After so many years I've realized that a lot of my poems are, well, depressing. But for me it makes sense. If I'm happily dealing with what life throws at me, I'm more actively pursuing other activities. If I don't have the mind, energy, will or whatever to deal with anything, then the only thing left for me to do, in my eyes, is lament...in writing. |
Wishes and Rainbows
When the stars don't listen to your wishes When they turn and laugh at your dreams What do you do? What do you say? When a fool thinks he's reached the rainbow When he falls and weeps for the wisdom What do you do? What do you say? When the world doesn't listen to you When they ignore your point of view What do you do? What do you say? 1983-86? |
Flash forward almost 20 years and here's another snapshot of my depressed mind. This was when I was living alone and trying to recover from my 'breakdown'. I was on medication and I still wrote. Some complain about medications suppressing their creativity and to some degree it does, but I still wrote. I wanted to do more, write more, but I couldn't for more than one reason. I was in the worse mental or psychological place I had ever been in at that point in my life. From what I've learned, crossing several time zones can trigger Bipolar mood swings. That's what happened to me. I had taken a trip to England for 10 days right after I graduated from college May 2002. It was the best vacation I ever had. The night I came back I felt odd, depressed, but shook it off as being sad that I wasn't going to wake up in England anymore. I couldn't shake it off. The depression lasted 3 weeks. The day I went to see a psychiatrist about it, I was better. Or so I thought.
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The Dark
If engulfs you in its deep belly, threatening to consume you, to eat your existence Not a thread of light shines forth; there is no hope for it, for it's all that's left Cry out, reach out, though nothing's there; shrink back to hide, to hide behind nothing again And though you fight it, it finally comes, you're it's victim caught, no chance of escape But lo' and behold, the day ascends; the sun arises from its hiding place The dark is chased clear away and what is left is only me Only me once again to face another nothing, a nothing that consumes my very being A cruel circle of my fate as it is that I can't find an end Who is the master of this ill-begotten journey, that I wrestle with through and through? Is she not me or is there another? Where does it begin? Where does it end? -2003 |
When I'm struggling again, I'm writing again. This is an example of when my mind just rambles. I suppose it helps sort through feelings and thoughts. Maybe spilling it out purges me of these depressing feelings. Whichever, I do feel the itch to write more during this time. This is the first draft and it may be the only draft. I don't always edit my poems. And coincidentally, I try writing down the hour as well as the day I finish a poem. Occasionally I don't, like with the above 2. This one to the right, I almost didn't look at the clock either. I think part of my bipolar mind is analytical as well as creative. And that part of my brain keeps thinking that I can maybe see a trend if I look back at all the times I've written poems. Eh, maybe. If I ever get around to it.
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Overloaded from caffeine or too many unattainable dreams overwhelmed with responsibilities as daughter, wife, mother, what about me? curled up in the morning forget the world for a while it'll still be there when I wake the dishes, the mess, my child I want to write, to create but all I feel is irate the bitter winds of winter can't be to blame its been 2 years going its been the same Didn't think I'd hate but I do I hate what I've become and what I do to you Coffee keeps me up everything else brings me down I can't catch my breath can't see my sun rise through the clouds Bury me at sea I've been sinking anyway Maybe my dreams will float on But this misery will have her way -2:30ish, Dec. 31, 2010 |
The Laughter SideI'm not all gloomy. I've got a sense of humor, too. This poem to the right was part of an assignment in college. I did have fun with it. I had started to draw a picture to go with this and have since lost it.
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The Chef's ChoiceSitting among my round comrades waiting,
I watch the chef pass by me and ponder my big brown enemy, the russet. After much careful consideration he comes back to make his choice, an honor to bestow. My red comrades and myself have much to offer. You can roast us, mash us, bake us, broil us, put us in soup or casserole. We may never make those greasy French Fries, but we make a perfect potato salad. It remains the choice of the chef. And he chooses me. He chooses me and my comrades to make a successful side dish. We will take pride in preparing for this kamikaze mission. |
Ode to Our AnimalsWhere would we be without animals? Life would be so boring without their antics.
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Simon the Siamese CatSimon the Siamese cat,
he was so fat. He liked other cats, but he really liked laps. The Plight of the Grasshopper Poor grasshopper, Chased by a cat for no reason. No escape this evening. |