Writing As A Form Of Therapy

Thank you. I am very lucky to have support from my mum. I also have a very supportive and understanding psychologist. Parenthood is no easy task for anyone, but I hope with the supports I have my darling has a secure and loving environment.

@Former-Member Thank you for your comment. Yes, I never will present myself to my daughter as someone infalliable. But hopefully that will be something she will learn from - that no one is perfect and from that perhaps escape the perfectionism that I suffered. I am grateful that she is in a community of love, particularly from her grandmother, but also other family and friends.

Parenting is a tough gig for anyone. But my daughter has given me great insight into the nuances of my mental health fluctuations.

Writing these experiences down I hope helps others feel less alone, give others some insight into the experience of mental illness, and also is very therapeutic for me. I appreciate people's comments and sharing their own experiences.

@Silenus yes, I agree with what you've said. I've written a diary since I was about 8 years old. Writing was my friend when I felt bereft. I wrote what I couldn't say to anyone else. And in writing it somehow gave comfort. I haven't really explored my writing too much before now, but now I'm writing a blog about my experiences, and I've joined a writing club so that I can learn and share.
I think your right again saying that language can be self-fulfilling. At one stage I threw out all my old diaries. They seemed just so black. I try to write now with a view to the sunny sky or the bright stars...or the smell of freshly cut grass, something hopeful and real....

Hi @2angels 🙂

It can be a difficult thing sometimes when using writing as a form of therapy... there are many things that I have written which will never see the light of day...

Writing those things served their purpose at the time... the dark things needed to be removed from my endlessly circling thoughts...

That does not mean that future re-reading of the words will ever serve any purpose, other than the chance that the memory of dark thoughts become the dark thoughts once more...

So, the dark words... they are safe and sound, lost to the darkness... rather poetic, really... hahaha...

Sending hugs and happy vibes your way...

This is another poem from a couple of years ago. It's about the same reality, seen in different ways...

This Biochemical Course

I paused for a moment to look where I had never been,
I cursed for an eternity this madness most obscene;
No mind was meant to feel this biochemical course,
No-one not afflicted will ever appreciate its force.

When reality is something that is optional at best,
Even the strongest souls are sorely put to the test;
The thing that separates the normal mind from mad,
Is probably beyond the realms of simple good and bad.

I live for a lifetime in a world that’s so extreme,
I lift my head to the heavens and let out a silent scream;
I’ve beat my fists against my head, hoping to be cured,
Now I beat a different path, with knowledge more matured.

There is no cure for being me, or at least that’s how I feel,
Instead I use my energy on trying to keep it real;
For in amongst the madness, the mood storms and the pain,
Is a world of deeper meaning and a creative fiery brain.

I look now to the balance, trying to tread a middle way,
And though it’s hard as hell to keep my demons at bay,
It’s a journey worth the travelling, and one hell of a ride,
And so much more of living done when I don’t avoid or hide.

I paused for a moment to look where I had been,
I am grateful for mixed blessings of this madness most obscene;
I have some small influence on this biochemical course,
And feel a sense of wonder at channelling its force.

Another poem from a few years ago...

Racing thoughts can be one of the harder parts of dealing with the high part of bipolar...

Thank You Fly

Thank you fly for buzzing near,
Land on my face and lick my tear;
Your little tickling on my face
Has slowed these thoughts that always race.

I woke before the sun came up,
Salty water spilling from my cup;
I think I’ve thought my daily quota
And revved too high my mental motor.

My moods and thoughts all over the place,
Firing so fast I can’t keep pace;
I’ve flown too high, beyond my fear,
And gasp for breath, there’s no air up here.

So tell me fly, what should you do?
This eternal racing is not for you;
I fear this tear it may infect
With thoughts too fast it will inject.

This poem was inspired by a mixed episode I was having back in December 2014...

It's nice to have a journal of when I was high, when I was low, when I was rapid cycling, and (worst of all) when I was in a mixed ep...

Lies of Heaven and Hell

I am the architect of my own demise,
I make up Hell’s pits and Heaven’s skies;
There’s never been a fair disguise
That hides these epic extreme lies.

I wrote this poem right after the last one I posted... here I am, a poet in a mixed episode, trying to write a poem that describes a mixed episode... hahaha...

All Mixed Up and Everywhere to Go

I’m weirdly calm, but all churning as well;
I’m feeling quite healed, but hurting as hell;
I’ve got all this rage, rattling my cage;
But embracing the world like a Zen Buddhist sage;
I don’t know how to explain what I’ve got;
One minute icy cold, the next burning hot;
I’m the highest of high and the lowest of low,
Without any idea of where next I go;
My creative juices have turned into steam,
As I try to wake from this dreamless dream;
I’ve been to 7th heaven and 666th hell,
Caught somewhere lost between sick and well.

And then there's a poem, 3 days later, when the mixed episode finally passes... the post-mixer period is usually a time of intense weariness. At the same time, some of my most positive writings come from these times, after I have "weathered the storm" of my mood and thought storms...

This is one of my personal favourites... this poem, I think, captures much of my essence and life philosophy... it flies the flag of my fierce unforgiving thoughts... it also describes a bit of what it is like to try and get on with life, bucking the trend by choosing to face my bipolar unmedicated (or rather, carefully self-medicated)...

There's always gotta be a bit of clowning around, too... hahaha...

Clowning Around

I may burn out before my time,
But it’s my choice so there is no crime;
I’ve chosen not to medicate,
Au natural, I face my fate.

The demons have their way with me,
And of these thoughts I’m seldom free;
This sacred power that is my brain’s
Flows in my head and my very veins.

It’s so intense I often scream,
Caught in this deep and waking dream;
But I face it all at any cost
Caught somewhere between found and lost.

I will never give up without a fight,
From deepest dark to fiery light;
There is a path that’s worth the tread
To tame the demons in my head.

So here I am with whip and chair,
Cracking loose without a care;
These demons will learn that I am king,
Clown and circus master of this big ring.

Bipolar to me, as simply as I can describe it...

Colours

Sad but true
This little boy blue
This little boy red
Trapped in his head