Trilogy of a Bipolar
eamonpatrick
Posts: 43
Part 1: “Still Hungry”
Sick from being lied to, stolen from and cheated on . . . you weren’t there when I needed you. I rang the doorbell, and I pounded on the door . . . it was supposed to be open, but it was not! I guess the worst fear of mine has finally reared its ugly head. No one around me is on my level. I will not surround myself any longer with those who can’t, won’t or don’t care to hear me speak. Physically and mentally ill, I despise this place I have to call home. Wanting to leave in the worst imaginable way, I’m (expletive) stuck here amongst a village of idiots. Nobody is up when I am, yet I will continue to trot towards the acceptance I so richly deserve. – written 6/23 at Pretzel Park, Manayunk.
Part 2: “The Roller Coaster Ride Up”
Things beginning to change for the better in the PM. Tuna fish hoagie from my great friend . . . smokes and cash from Mom #2. The two of them together are ones of a select group who get me, understand me and truly & sincerely want to help me. It feels great, and I know I am better because of it. Just left the Arts Festival . . . couldn’t stay there very long, for it was a bipolar’s nightmare set to music! I couldn’t deal with all that, so now I’m back at the steps of Gay St. . . . conserving my strength for the last push up a few flights. I know I’ll make it, and The Universal Soul will be at the top . . . waiting to give me a hug. – written 6/23 on the steps of Gay St.
Part 3: “The Roller Coaster Ride Down”
Back in the hole, it challenges the depths of my soul. Places to go, dwell and attempt to shed this living hell - - they, too, are falling by the wayside. Those who should be the closest and dearest are anything but the nearest to my world. Not caring to understand or comprehend the fact that everything has flipped itself overnight and in broad daylight, I continuously walk on and drive by the very things that ALMOST make me want to cry. Wanting to be done with it all, I still feel that nothing can touch my wherewithal . . . Good night. – written 6/23 in my apartment.
Sick from being lied to, stolen from and cheated on . . . you weren’t there when I needed you. I rang the doorbell, and I pounded on the door . . . it was supposed to be open, but it was not! I guess the worst fear of mine has finally reared its ugly head. No one around me is on my level. I will not surround myself any longer with those who can’t, won’t or don’t care to hear me speak. Physically and mentally ill, I despise this place I have to call home. Wanting to leave in the worst imaginable way, I’m (expletive) stuck here amongst a village of idiots. Nobody is up when I am, yet I will continue to trot towards the acceptance I so richly deserve. – written 6/23 at Pretzel Park, Manayunk.
Part 2: “The Roller Coaster Ride Up”
Things beginning to change for the better in the PM. Tuna fish hoagie from my great friend . . . smokes and cash from Mom #2. The two of them together are ones of a select group who get me, understand me and truly & sincerely want to help me. It feels great, and I know I am better because of it. Just left the Arts Festival . . . couldn’t stay there very long, for it was a bipolar’s nightmare set to music! I couldn’t deal with all that, so now I’m back at the steps of Gay St. . . . conserving my strength for the last push up a few flights. I know I’ll make it, and The Universal Soul will be at the top . . . waiting to give me a hug. – written 6/23 on the steps of Gay St.
Part 3: “The Roller Coaster Ride Down”
Back in the hole, it challenges the depths of my soul. Places to go, dwell and attempt to shed this living hell - - they, too, are falling by the wayside. Those who should be the closest and dearest are anything but the nearest to my world. Not caring to understand or comprehend the fact that everything has flipped itself overnight and in broad daylight, I continuously walk on and drive by the very things that ALMOST make me want to cry. Wanting to be done with it all, I still feel that nothing can touch my wherewithal . . . Good night. – written 6/23 in my apartment.
"The legacy of Surrealism after 1968 must surely follow artists, writers, thinkers and activists who are committed to the power of the unconscious and to the imagination of other possible worlds."
- Alyce Mahon
- Alyce Mahon
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Comments
keep writing it is good
be safe
"Hear me, my chiefs!
I am tired; my heart is
sick and sad. From where
the sun stands I will fight
no more forever."
Chief Joseph - Nez Perce
- Alyce Mahon
- Alyce Mahon
It's great stuff man, keep it up.
- Alyce Mahon