Being Bipolar isn't EASY

and the Art of Slowing it Down

Then GOD said

(Note to Reader: The bulk of this was written many years ago.)

Just a few short days ago I was literally scrambling through my house, in the middle of the night, on my fingers and toes like a hungry wolf sniffing out her prey. I imagine I looked focused and determined, a bit MAD, as if I was going to find someone hiding under the bed, or in the closet. At least that’s what I was hoping… at the bare minimum I suspected that I’d find a “bug” under the lamp shade.

I was high as a kite; I hadn’t slept in ten days; but I didn’t find anyone or thing anywhere, however hard I looked.

But that didn’t stop me! I made offerings to him behind closed doors; I felt his towering presence behind the shower curtain but did not dare to disturb him. I gather, in my subconscious, I knew better than to destroy the myth that I willed in my head.

… it was during this episode, I realized that I had become a most exquisite sculpture/ artiste. Here are pictures to prove it. (WOW) I had fulfilled my dream, even if I didn’t have a repertoire of built work to prove it.

With rigor, through the course of my illness, I ‘worked’ to absolve my family and myself from our sins but I couldn’t stop talking. My realizations were periodic, much like confessions, which I insisted on sharing. Once I realized that I wasn’t building a fortress but digging a moat; when I risked losing everything, possibly everyone that I loved, and someone who they loved… when I questioned if I was really “on the inside” or “out”. I discovered why [they] came to me in the hospital.

They came because I was dying.

As the story goes; a nurse in the previous hospital, which I stayed at, injected me with a virus that was slowly taking my life. My monsters had designed it such that the medication would retard the virus’ growth until it was strong enough to take my life. I wasn’t the only one who saw the warning signs: I was losing my hair and had blisters, etc..

Upon seeing this, during my confession, [they] shut my case. They couldn’t simply jump the fence or come over the back wall, [they] had to devise a safer way of getting to me, of putting me to rest.

… A messenger told me not to look at them; and I knew better than to cross the messenger.

With the cameras overhead, and my mother in the corridor, I knew that I was safe. …I figured that I was going to die soon; but I knew that I was safe.

Was it witchcraft that they practiced? Was it yogic??

My eyes were closed, I was trying to sleep, but I recall: A man? A man stood at my head, scratching his Five O’clock Shadow the other and a large older woman, in all likelihood my Mom, with smooth hands sat at my bedside with his hand on my thigh a comforting gesture. When the ritual was over, he brushed my tattoo off in a way that resembled blowing out a candle. <insert relief>

The subject of this post should have been: “then God said: let there be LOVE” – I haven’t been to the hospital since; am I healed? (Note to Reader: I was not injected with a deadly virus, I didn’t have “CANcer”… as you may very well know, from experience, hospitals routinely check one’s blood especially while patients are on certain medications.)

One response to “Then GOD said

  1. Pingback: I’m Coming Out | Being Bipolar isn't EASY

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