doomed to repeat it

I reach out to the light and the dark of you
prepared for any combination of both
you bring me flowers and dirt
screaming and whispering your devotion to me
I lap at the compliments
drawing strength from anything you care to leave for me
bones and seeds
from your past planting the future
words cry out I will end you so you can start anew
in the corner I lay spent as the light from the dawn creeps in
finding a beaten pulp eager for the switch again
it brings feeling where it has not been for endless time
I sway to your calling hoping you will raise your hand to me
and bring me home with you, where I truly belong

— GLB

My Path

When I came home from the hospital after the psychotic break, as much as I was freaked out about it, I was just as much business as usual. It was a matter of “How do I get on with my life?” I was ready and willing to jump back into the fray, as it were. I just wasn’t able. At least my job wasn’t sure I was ready to be back and they weren’t talking to me about the reasons why. That should have been a clue to me. There were clearly pieces missing, some very obvious actions that I took that were “inappropriate.” Enough to keep me from the office. Perhaps I should have been admitted to the psychiatric hospital right then and there. My psychiatrist was responsible for keeping me out. He didn’t “have rights” there and it would have greatly hampered his access to me if I had gone in and started getting the help that I really needed. The next few months were an exercise in futility. I was front row to an example of “what is the wrong way to treat your patient.” In addition to the stellar treatment I received from him he brought in a therapist to help me along. On first meeting with this therapist he told me that I “just needed to pull myself up by my bootstraps and get back in the game.” He also came over to me, sniffed, and said “you don’t smell crazy.” So, my psychiatrist didn’t make a change to my treatment only to add a therapist who, well, was a quack. Luckily, I finally found a treatment team that actually helped me. When I added the ECT team at the psych hospital I had a group of doctors and therapists that had my best interest in mind. Still, until the time I suggested and then made the decision to start ECT treatments, I didn’t think there was really anything wrong with me. I wanted, I needed to go back to work. Work was what I lived for. The fact that I had been away from it for so long was wearing on me. The fact that no one has talked about what put me into the situation still gets to me. While it makes little difference now, I would at least like to know what I did to cause my company to keep me away. I have gotten on with my life, I’d like to have that piece of information so I can put this part behind me. I am still business as usual, only the business has changed. I just try to do whatever is best for me. Whatever makes me better.

headlong

those episodes,
fraught with disaster
were surprises
to me,
to everyone

I ran into them
headlong
and they captured me
pulling me into
adventures
no one would
willingly endure

thrashed and bruised
in a hospital bed,
confusion mixed
with a strong sense
of dread,
knowing that what
was bad had ended,
along with what was good

— GB

Untitled # 506

my shit chases me
sometimes
and I run so fast
trying to keep ahead
and you
and you
and you
and the cancer
and the BPD
you all keep finding ways
to catch me
to trip me up
to pull me down
when all I really want to do is
stop for a little while
and look at everything
and celebrate
where I have been
where I am
and how I got here

— GB

Trying is Tiring

Trying is tiring,
Hoping my broken
Mind can reach out
And pull the rest of me
Out of this comfortable bed

To brick up
Every unfortunate thing
I can remember
Taking place in my life

If I cannot see it
It never happened

I rue the day
That I learned
The past can’t be changed

I continue to wish
It wasn’t so,

Trying is tiring

— GB

Post Number 992

This is post number 992.  When I started this “Going Sideways” back in September, 2013 I had no idea it would turn into what it is.  Then again, I’m not completely sure what it is now.  I have Bipolar Disorder (BPD) and I intended this to be an outlet, a repository, a way to deal with my illness, as well as a way to deal with life which is obviously, irrevocably, intertwined with BPD.  I turns out, this blog is what I intended it to be.  It’s just not how I intended it to be.  Instead of a daily log of my life, I have chosen to express myself in other forms and this has proven to be even more therapeutic than writing daily entries about myself and BPD.  The majority of what I do write, whether called poetry or prose or drivel, has been the most important to me.  It is the most rewarding for me because it comes from the most emotional part of me.  One of the most rewarding parts about this blog are all the people that like, follow and comment.  I might, might, still write this blog without you guys but I really wouldn’t enjoy it nearly as much.  THANK YOU!!!!

This being post 992, some of you might have noticed that I have post 1,000 coming up.  I really should commemorate this milestone but I am not really sure what to do.  Maybe I’ll come up with something spectacular like fireworks maybe it’ll just be business as usual.  Of course, anyone is welcome to comment.  For now I’ll just thank everyone for “listening” and get on with publishing post number 992.

— GB