I murder In vivid color

Slashing sprays serpentine

Slices sickly slabbed

Not a simply white crime

A disastrous catastrophe

Blows the mind

Screams of loudest colors

Resonate until the joke ends

Or

Bleed a second hand version

Of real consequence

I keep looking for health with the very doctors who have mutilated my body as much as I have.

Broken bodies reflecting careless youth, poor choices, and forgotten immortality

Tsk! Tsk! Bless your heart! Pledging false tittie allegiance to St. Dolly, while cursing her costumes as bras.

OVERHEARD: He has all the awareness of a goldfish in a bowl.

Ornament stories ring in the Yuletide gay; laughter punctuated with comfortable joshing and jeering like siblings home for the holidays.

This is the link to the original post where I spell out what it’s like in my brain: https://maremartell.com/2019/09/04/wrong-door-right-place/

Something broke inside of me when I was in the hospital. Putting a picture to it makes it appear like a telephone pole sized railroad tie, black with char and tar from the fire. The intensity of the fire had been screaming sirens at me, but I kept limping away trying to protect myself. My defenses, my being, my very existence felt like I was experiencing a transformation on such a primitive level.

One of my favorite ways to respond to people I find difficult, ignorant, or…good lord I’m arrogant, is to pray that their hearts break open with the light of love and that their eyes see the clarity of truth. I’ve been praying like this for several months. I don’t want harm to come to the people I disagree with, so I wrote this to love them instead.

I was talking to my person, Jen while we discussed her life events and our thoughts on it. Somehow we got onto the topic about bipolar disorder which she vocally advocates for education of people regarding mental illnesses.

I shared with her that I suspected something was amiss because I could have a great day until about 3:30 in the afternoon. Then everything falls to shit. I become weepy, irritable, unkind, hilarious, and back to flying high on five projects spread out before me. Truthfully, I AM working on all of them, so there is that.

She asked if I’d ever been diagnosed with bipolar disorder or manic-depressive as it used to be called. I have not but it has been suggested to me a few times.

She got a book about hypomania, what it means, how it felt, and what they would experience. She read through the entire passage and I was on the other end of the conversation sobbing soul truth about the intensity of epiphany. She further suggested rapid cycling because I swing throughout the day.

If this is an accurate diagnosis and is medically confirmed, I feel hope for the first time since the break up with my old self. I mean I really believe that what broke that day were all my preconceived notions about what really is me. It broke me wide open to accept new possibilities that I hadn’t realized before that moment.

Truth, as each of these lost parts of me are fitting their pieces back where they’ve belonged, it’s a giddy feeling. I am discovering new things about me at 51! I’m both blown away with gratitude I couldn’t feel when the darkness overcame my light.

There are so many things that can be attributed to the self diagnosis. You see, I thought mania ALWAYS meant hyper-mania. I didn’t know there were such thing as HYPO-mania. Although technically one isn’t bigger than the other, it’s based on, from what I understand so far, the size of the wave.

Hyper-mania is like a hurricane where hypo-mania is like a tornado. Both are horribly damaging but statistically, a hurricane is more likely to wreak more havoc. I’m a tornado force sustained winds until I run out of air and have to fight to catch my breath because it keeps trying to escape permanently.

The battleground created from darkest intent

brought to light with a torch to catastrophize

cobwebs, deceitfully woven to contain fluid knowledge

My personal Library of Alexandria scorched

Idiocracy with a twist of lime and soapy cilantro

I am reminded that I murder in color faces past

When the joke ends and my power returns.

Living in a second hand version of real/altered reality

Knowing that death isn’t inherently sad, it is transition,

makes the difference between knowing and understanding.

Some people say you should hold out hope
Some people say you should fight
What happens when you give away that hope?
What happens when you’ve fought?
Some people say you should hold onto your dreams
Some people say you should meet every challenge
What happens when you give away your dreams?
What happens when you can’t meet the challenge?
Some people say that change is good
Some people say that things happen for a reason
What happens when change sucks you dry?
What happens when the reasons make no sense?
Some people say you don’t have the right
Some people say you shouldn’t question
What happens when it IS my right?
What happens when your questions remain unanswered?
Some people say you shouldn’t give up
Some people say that the now is temporary
What happens when you have to give up?
What happens when the now is every day?
Some people say hold on to what’s yours
Some people say to let it free
What happens when nothing is yours?
What happens when all you want is freedom?
Some people say that pain is relative
Some people say that this too shall pass
What happens when it’s all you feel?
What happens when it doesn’t?
Some people say what’s meant to be will be
Some people say not to take things for granted
What happens when the will is wrong?
What happens when you’re the one taken?