Being Bipolar isn't EASY

and the Art of Slowing it Down

YOU gotta ask!

You gotta ask! You gotta ask – WHO did I think was paying for my ‘investigation(s)’. WHO did I think followed ME to Vegas, Paris and Italy?? & all over the globe?

Well, the answer is… a number of people.

First and foremost, I imagined that my X had hired a private investigator. Unfortunately, I never got the resolution that I needed to ‘move on’ in a timely manner and believed that although he couldn’t be with me that he loved me and was trying to do what he could to protect ME. (He had come into a large sum of money while we were dating, he could afford a private investigator…)

Two: The local police department, they after all escorted me to the hospital after my first recorded episode.

Third: I often thought the United States Government. They knew about the terrorist cell that lived in my apartment before me. Even now, I read articles like this & I think that I was as important as Bin Laden:… I think “the government” had to be keen upon MY whereabouts.

Fourth: related to third, possibly Al-Qaeda – all terrorists in general.

and Fifth, you can’t forget 5, God.

and finally You. YOU here, reading this NOW, I couldn’t get away from You. I ran into You everywhere. Albeit some innocent; how I <3 for your/their innocence.

Foolish answers, I agree but true. But that’s what I thought. That’s what I still think.

One time, I was approached outside my apartment by a mousey looking fellow in a rain jacket and hat. Just like in a movie, I was walking by and he stepped out of his car and not only greeted me but he struck up a conversation. Totally SCARY! Total SPY material.

& I already told you about [Japan Man]…

Another time, I sought the advice of a lawyer. My neighbor’s boyfriend, nor my other (lawyer) X just wouldn’t do… Instead I met an alcoholic at a bar one night and went to his (law) office the following week!?!? He was intrigued about my story, I did not tell him that I was Bi-Polar, but he was more interested in getting into my pants. Argh – Men!

That was around the time that I met a very nice man in a long brown winter’s coat from Or(h)egon(e)– oh what’s his name? Terry, Tracey?? Shoot! Must look it up in my diary! He played ME… he was following me as I was leaving the bookstore window, looking for messages, and struck up a conversation about poetry. Then there outside my office he asked for my business card and said, while opening his wallet, that his had run dry. Sane, sober, non-psychotic I would trust any man with a soft face in a long brown winter’s coat from Oregon. WE, we became friends. (He didn’t walk with his left hand stuffed in his pocket.)

Note to Reader: This 'Press' was edited @ 3:37am MT 06.17.2013. Silly me, I forgot to include God?! Then again @ 2:39am MT 06.19.2013, had to add YOU.

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