Strength is a Curse

Where do the Strong People Go to Fall Apart? Where do I lean when my whole entire life is ripping at the seams? Where do I cry? How do I cry? How do I feel joy? Where is the joy in the world when everyone leans on you?

I’m falling down, but no one sees me, no one notices it. They all believe my strength will save me. This time I don’t know what to do, who to turn to, who to talk to, what to feel or even what to think. My insides are hurting, my whole body is drained from fighting off the anger, the pain and the stress of everyone else around me. I’m so tired.

Being strong is a curse. It’s a curse because you know you have to be the leader, the one who has to break themselves in half to help the people who can’t see that you are doing them a favor.

Being strong means you have to be capable of handling heartache and sadness in a raw and miserable way. You have to hear how you are an asshole for hurting someone when you are trying to help someone be the best version of themselves while also trying to give them the best version of you.

Being strong means you have to be comfortable being alone in your pain because no one will be able to handle the pain you carry. Even if you just lean on them slightly, you will crush a person who isn’t meant to carry the load you are meant to carry.

Being strong means you have to shovel shit, while shoveling more shit and then keep shoveling even when your arms are begging for a break.

Being strong means you have to cry to yourself because your break down is more comparable to an atomic bomb exploding and wrecking everything in its path.

Being strong means giving others your positive energy even when you need it. This is because just some of your strength can move mountains for those with less strength.

Being strong means you will attract people who are weaker because they need you and believe in you.

Being strong is a curse. It’s a curse I would gladly walk away from and happily find a strong person to lean on.

I’m exhausted, bleeding inside, breaking at the seams and ready to escape this hell or being a strong person. I don’t want this curse, I don’t want to break my own heart to feel like I’m doing the right thing.

The worst part is that the strongest people I know die young. They die from trying to be too strong for too long. I have to hope for a different outcome. I hope my Lord is watching my back as I struggle to find good in a world that has crushed me and devastated me over and over and over again.

It Takes me Under Fast…

Some part of me is losing control. The balance is off so badly that I don’t know what to feel.

I feel insecurity. I feel distant. I feel messy. I feel chaotic.

Why?

This is so out of left field, it’s so frustrating!

I know bipolar is not curable. I know I have to learn to deal with that fact, but there are times when I want to run away and never look back. Today is one of those days.

My anxiety is overwhelming, I want to cry and I want to scream in frustration. I want to be angry with my Lord, and the people around me who are thriving while I’m barely maintaining.

No one fully understands the feeling of being tossed and turned on mister toads wild ride like a bipolar patient. It’s miserable to be so completely fucked in the head. You don’t know when the silent threat will strike or if you are even prepared to fight for your life in an exhausting battle against a part of yourself you don’t know.

People go from loving you to thinking your crazy. People go from looking up to you, to wondering how they could have ever thought you knew shit about shit. That is demoralizing and painfully fucking depressing. You can be educated and know what you’re saying is true, but you’re crazy so they don’t hear you anymore.

I watched a good friend fall victim to this condition just the other night. Watching her cry in frustration for the life we are stuck living, is a sad reminder of the waves of hell coming back and devastating the forward progress I have earned.

Brain disorders, which now includes bipolar disorder, affects the brain. Some doctors say:

Medication is the only way to live a normal life.

Others in the field say:

It’s going to take a lot of work. It will never stop being work, but if you do the work, you have a chance at a normal life and a more balanced life.

What about the moments when you stare at yourself in the mirror and think:

Is it worth it? Am I worth all this pain? And how much pain can I take before I end the pain?

Sometimes, I contemplate what true peace is. Like what is it like for someone who doesn’t have bipolar? Are they able to be happy for healthy reasons? Are they more secure in knowing who and what they are? Do they know what it feels like to be lost in their minds pleading with the Lord to help them find strength to survive another demonic attack from within?

I’m exhausted when the depression hits. I feel depleted and lost when the waves of bipolar depression start ripping my mind into shreds and I’m begging for mercy to no end.

To me, it feels like a my brain senses a bad cell that is misfiring and passively bumping into the healthy parts of my brain causing chaos and mayhem. It’s like playing hot potato until the bad cell decides to die off and leave the healthy parts alone. Before it dies, it temporarily kills my joy, my energy, my personality, my stable mood, my beliefs, my values, and all the other things that make me who I am. It’s like watching a horror film where the killer is inside you looking for a chance to attack you when you’re vulnerable and happy.

I love the life I have now, but I feel like I know it won’t last. I know this because I am incapable (despite my truly powerful efforts) to stay balanced with my illness. This illness will be always be my till death do us part unwanted partner. If I neglect it, I suffer. If I focus on it, I suffer. If I beg for help, I suffer. If I fight for my life, I suffer.

Why does this have to happen to me? To all of us suffering (some in silence, some out loud)? Why can’t someone care enough to find a treatment that works all the time? Why can’t I experience joy and happiness without wondering when it will end and I will be lost in the abyss? Someone, Please tell me why I feel the urge to give up? And why tomorrow I can’t sleep for weeks or talk without speaking too fast that I seem neurotic? Someone please tell me why I sometimes can’t feel a thing? And other times I can’t stop feeling all things (good or bad)?

Remember that I am fighting a threat you can’t see or hear, but it is a living hell for me and I’m fighting to remind myself everyday that I am worthy of goodness. I fight every single fucking day till I’m bleeding and begging for a break that never comes. Remember that I survived before but it only gets harder until it ends.

If you care about me, remember that I am partially broken, but my heart is good, my intentions are pure, my shortness or nastiness isn’t from me, it’s from my careful care of my debilitating illness that affects my brain. I suffer and struggle to hold it together but I will not give up if I keep fighting with my whole heart and soul, and sometimes I might look lost and in need of support. Just remember that you don’t have to be stuck in my hell with me, I wouldn’t be here if I had a choice, and I would never want anyone to feel struck by my hell.

Just choose where you want to be and don’t love me at all if you can’t love the parts of me that are broken, because they will never be perfect and I will never be able to apologize for all the pain I can inflict on myself and unintentionally on those that love me.

I’m sorry if you love me, I know I’m hard to love. 😢

F*ck … The War is Coming

Inner child therapy is fucking hard. It hurts a lot. It makes me see the pain much deeper than I thought was possible.

The wreck-less mess she made of me

I just realized today that my 15 year old self is a narcissistic, brat, who got traumatized so much she doesn’t know the difference between pleasure and pain. She has been in control more than the present me. I am 32 fucking years old and I have fallen down a lot to now allowing myself to lean on a bad time in my life when the hormonal and bitchy 15 year old was driving through like a freight train.

Not anymore. I’m kicking her ass and showing her who is in control now and how I will not give up control anymore. Time to sit down, the mama is coming out, the fighter is about to take you down to where you belong little girl. You’ve shown me yours and my own pain today, I’m grateful for that, but I will be damned if I keep letting you steal my joy.

Want to see the strength I have from being locked inside for so long? I am about to unleash the soldier.

Time for some boxing. Time to break open and fight, let my body, my fist, my legs fight it till the physical pain makes me stop hiding from her and eventually I will face her without disassociating.

In my mind she is 30 feet tall stepping on the joy, the love and the ability to heal myself.

Not anymore!

Fighting back finally