Freedom has limitations and absolute freedom has the the strictest rules. There are rules to this. This is how we become free.
The huge hallway was initially so wide. Then she entered in from the last office on the left. The bathroom at the end of the way is now guarded by this hulking she devil that’s so gorgeous and pleasantly petite. Eyes immediately dropped with the water weights of wear and shame. The hallways walls silently began to waltz inward towards the guardian of the room for powder. Tom could hear her serene steps grace the over worn carpet like drops of candy sunshine on a sandy beach in the fall. This hall now accents her entire small frame of mind as she spoke… “Hi Tom” as she barely missed the kiss of elbows. Unaware that he didn’t even speak back, Tom hurriedly stumbles into the restroom for a moment to lean upon the wall for support. The whoosh of the flush initiated another mountainous rush of adrenaline. Kip the first shift security guard appears suddenly with a huge smile! “Bet not go in that one for awhile” he says very proudly. Tom attempted to smile but the recent trauma was overtly detectable. “What’s wrong with you Tom? Did you see a ghost in the hallway or somethin?” Followed by another gush of joyful laughter. Tom replies in a minute monotone manner “No, I just felt a little ill is all.”
“Well Tom, just breathe!” said Kip ever so confidently.
“Ummm that’s what I do. That’s what we all do. I have been breathing since birth actually but thanks anyways.”
“No Tom not like you always do but breathe rightly. You see I used to have a whole kip of anxiety like you. I recognize the symptoms. My wife suggested that we see a breathing coach…”
“Ha!” Tom interrupted. “A breathing coach! What pray tell is that.”
“I know the feeling of skipticism as well.”
“Did you say skipticism?” with a smile to big to hide.
“Yes, there always a good way to use Kip, anyways, I was reeling initially but I kipt an open mind. Sure enough only after a few months, not only is my anxiety better, I am much more clever. I sleep better as well. Tom perhaps you should give it a try. What do you have to lose except maybe a few awkward moments from say that pretty lady in this here corner pocket office.”
“Is she coming!?” quipped Tom.
“No, not into the mens room. Relax Tom, just relax. LoL”
“Honestly, I just don’t know how…wait did you just say LoL? Kip no one says that, you can type it in a text or chat or you actually laugh” said Tom trying to fight back a smile.”
“Yeah but you almost did lol, anyways go on.”
“As I was saying, I just can’t relax anymore. The score seems to keep running up and I seem to keep losing out. Office pressure, dating pressure, oh sure, I graduated college only to fail in the office space. This race is out of hand and I can’t stand to keep losing.”
“Then breathe Tom, just breathe. Lesson 1 have you ever tried LSD?”
“Relax Tom it just means light slow and deep. I heard it on a podcast on that metube channel.
“Exactly how I am breathing in this toilet room after your zoom conference on the porcelain porch.”
Kip bursts out in laughter… “ that definitely was a kippy but seriously try this…breathe only in the nostrils…and consciously breathe light, slower, and stomachy”
Tom smiling “I think you mean diaphragmatically”
Nope, I mean just with the belly. Just try it for two weeks and then after that I bet you feel a whole kip better. Pretend that you are always in the bathroom right after a kippy and breathe that way always. All will soon be skippy.
“Ok, sounds harmless, and nothing to lose right…so you say LSD huh?
“Yepper, and watch your anxiety fall away like your sweat leaving your forehead a few minutes ago!”
“Yet, another Kip joke but I can only hope that you are serious about this.”
“Oh I am, it really pays kipidends.”
“That was even close to dividends” says Tom with a chuckle, he continues “Well buckle up, we are going for a ride on the breath. I hope this works as it’s all I have left.”
“Kip up and giver an old school try. Dem Yogis peoples have done this for long time. Those navy diver seal teams also use this type of stuff. Best of all it only cost what you have plenty of…time. Speaking of I need to get back on the grind and secure these here premises. I will be in my office here again right after lunch tomorrow if need more Kipvice. Stall number 2 LoL!”
“Yes, indeed Kip, LOL back at you, and Kip, thank you.”
“For what? I just wanted to help is all.”
Well mostly for just being you. I am actually going to dive in. I have done some research historically but never gave it much thought. I guess now is the time.”
“Well you better start now cause look who is coming down the hall!”
Change is a must when not to change is the enemy of better days. Yesterday stares at the future wondering what could be. What should be. Trust that the process out of this mess is, as far as I can guess, truly necessary. It’s scary how many are growing stagnant. Older but not wiser but any means. The seasons seem to predict that constant effects are needed to promote new causes. Just because I feel safe in misery does not mean the risk outweighs the means. The committee speaks in community forums about scores of individuals on disability doing nothing.
Truly the process to help process this mess is better than this. Seriously! No, I am just being facetious but with a word full of tongue in cheek. Let’s speak as those who are in the know. We know that yesterday is not gone. We know tomorrow is already here. We know that if anyone is reluctant to change that it is all the same. I can predict the future. It looks just like yesterday without any change.
Off to a mountain type rocky start to the finish of a play. Playing with vibrations that transport swifter than an all terrain vehicle. Getting back to normal is a fallacy for the insecurities of fall leaves that ride the winds. They never see the tree again from the same view, only a few may stay awake long enough to notice anyways.
Why are such unmoving, but living to give by the sea type trees so bountiful? They seem to play every time a breeze visits. So stable. So able to just be. Alive and unmotivated to move beyond what the roots authorize. No surprise that they last past the blast of the winds. This tree that my little i does see has been around to see more than me. Perchance, just a glance and he has seen those who made me and escorted me into the scene to breathe. Same chance that once only this type survives, a time when this very tree will see those who read from me. Those from eternity that earth is yet to see. The deer pants and does a dance for the fall of minds. Hunted like a prey. Sought after like for play. Life and death in the tip of the arrow. Buckets of bullets pierced the winds, vibrating the leaves as the tree shook with pain, while the watcher took aim. Cheers! Another death. Someone earned a trophy for the wall case. More leaves fell. The water grew silent in view of the violent vibration of blood on the ground seeping towards the roots of the trees. Tonight we eat. Tonight we sleep. We sleep with the leaves that fell last fall. We eat with the deer that fell last night. We dream of the trees that witnessed the blood. Let me be like a tree. Let me be like a deer. Let my mind rest from the vibrant run of the vehicle that crosses all terrains.
Four seasons of medications that tease the sand like the rain on a sunny day. Oceanic under tow flows perpetually often stealing an unsuspecting visitor to the shoreline. Ignore the education. A brief moment to explore the beautiful depths with scuba gear and a breath. Then the wind of the waves rip the side of the vessel. Gravity exists in such a way. Now the enemy of the surface. The surfers can no longer see my face. Still wondering just how deep this decent into depressions may be. There is definitely not enough air from here to there. Calculate the fear or just enjoy the final view of the underwater tomb stones. I knew it would end this way. So dark and cold. Life swims above. Far above. For the first time I see light vanish. A race for eyes to adjust to the new blindness of old darkness. Others are near but who cares when they are not seen. So it’s a million miles to the next breath. It’s a millisecond before I heard my own muffled sound. Counting down to when there is one left. Shhh! Thoughts seem to make an echo. Echo
seems to make another thought. The pressure is almost unbearable. The end is just above the waves. The bottom has never been seen. The life in the jacket has become straight. The boat rocks. It’s almost my turn to fall in.
Another great idea. Seems so strange. Such excellent excitement and no excuse will suffice for not finishing. Years of yesterday’s play on the unfinished beginnings. Go and Upgrade. That podcast was a blast for awhile. Maybe brought a smile to someone somewhere. Where? Where they don’t stare at blank walls. Where they they fair well when the seasons fall.
This book is practically writing itself. Just need the hand speed and endurance. Voice recognition software has really come along ways haven’t you? Oh, the website! I almost remembered what I constantly forget. The blog! Oh the fog of the mind. Why whine? Why? Answer another question on questions or answers. And another. And another. They won’t stop coming. Technology has come along way these days. They know. It’s knows. Don’t you? This tablet can read my mind. No, I don’t mind. I just wish it would finish this novel idea. Only 848 pages to go! So…Did you see the price of gold? I am sold that the price will continue to incline as the markets decline due to lack of focus. They are thinking of drinking their fears away. I must stay. I must go for a ride on the blockchain train. It’s the newest solution. I am all in. A great topic for a book. I will start it tonight. This wall looks quite blank. Perhaps words of the unheard should fill it. If these walls were paper they would still be blank. If these walls could write then they would fill my mind with their ideas as well. What do walls think about? I will write on them. They need my ideas to hold these corners in place. I will share so they don’t just stare at me. How impolite! Perhaps I might teach them a lesson. I will reach them with a sledge hammer. Oh! Sister Hammer could really sing. Wait! Anyways those were the days. Days before the flight of ideas. Days before the fight of trying to carry out just one of them, and seeing the
I have four legs. They are round and made of the finest rubber. I am very grounded and I sound like a parking lot full of horses and chariots. My charioteer very clearly needs all of my latest tech to circumspect the terrain. Once, on a night full of painful rain drops from the sky, most of which were forged with ice and wind, my charioteer would pretend to be loosely associated with reality. I have this habit of being on the right side of the road. This night in question, my lights were dimmed against my better judgement, and we went left of center, up a hill, on a dark country lane, in the painful rain drops of ice. Very nice of him to swerve back into comfort zones as I kept a firm grip on the loose ice which was attempting to convert the black top into its own form. I was born to ride in obedience. However, my engine is clever, and I sent multiple warnings to the Mania in charge of this trip. They must have immediately slipped by as we approached another incline in the road. This time my dims were substituted for the same shade as the night combined with the black ice which was secretly planning our demise. No surprise that we accelerated to keep pace with the manic thoughts that were raining out of control like the inclement weather. Left of center, up the hill, in the darkest night. If anyone else is out here, this will be our last drive. The fear that rings in my speakers is a word called “totaled”.
This totally describes the mind state of the manic rain and the pain associated. Yet, the end of the road is near. Just a few minor bruises as we cruise for safer shores. Fortunately the winter night high ways were as empty as the bottles on the dashboard.
I follow the rules of the road. I am well grounded with four legs that are round and made of the finest rubber. I ride right on the roadways day and night. My charioteer on occasion will manically make me ride against my smart computer like brain. It’s just a matter of time before the sum total is more than the total sum. I only wish there was a way to lock the door way when in such a state. No breathalyzers for manic minds. No tests for manic drives.
Let me reverse, as not to veer off topic. Things seem ok inside for a spell. The horses are running tonight. The weather is changing again. These winds are ultra rapid cycling. I am roaring. I am running. It’s getting cold again. The weather looks like rain. The doors are locked as not to let anyone else in. This is a private run. The voice commands are coming faster than normal. I recognize the voice. It’s my job to keep things right.
Stillness spoke so sweetly that even serenity had to blush as she graced by. Yet, Illness was extremely intolerable to the softly sung lullaby that was brooding on the silver air waves. Illness decided that this noise was such a nuisance that he would toss the very alarmed clock out of the window. The neighbors heard the crashing of the glass as it broke into hundreds of small weapons of war. They turned over and went back to sleep. Illness maintained the resolve to solve the riddle of the universe which only those with such thoughts even know exist. The new breeze was breaking into the open window, without a sound, and was touching down upon the face of Illness. This is a trick to make me sick said Illness and he took a thought to find some paper and tape. Better hurry before the flashing of lights, the flashing that lights the night arrive for a ride. Unwittingly this time, the crime would go unnoticed as the neighborhood grew increasingly immune to the immensity of his sickness.
Then, the glass that once stood as guard of the wind broke the skin against the wrist. This pain, this bliss, this blood. This time, this need, this help must speedily be on its way. Just sit and wait. The lights must be flashing soon. They heard the weapons of glass consume my imagination. They that live nearby, sometimes say Hi, must be drawing nigh.
Stillness now such a great delight but the fight to keep awake. The flight, of the lights, of the night, have not come. Stillness still sings this lullaby. Same song but new tune. Same cut but new wound.
This time it’s not a cry for help. This time I cry for help. Illness began to sing a song. Overweight with sorrow, this is already tomorrow, no ones heart to borrow. The breeze becomes slightly more violent. The wind speaks in a mocking movement as the papers are being rearranged on the desk. The intruder vanished so suddenly and so gracefully that even serenity would blush as she returned home. Would serenity use her phone? Illness remains in the zone. Stillness came much closer to home. Too late to practice this tune. Too late to speak to the moon.
Illness had the answer to the universe. Stillness now sings it to the multiverse. It’s getting still, it’s getting dark. The neighborhood goes to still the wind. Serenity sleeps with stillness again.
Lights are flashing…
Worse than being bipolar is not knowing what is wrong. For so long I was misdiagnosed and every time a new dose of skepticism arose. I take some of the blame as I read the books but still couldn’t explain what was wrong. It’s not this diagnosis because I cycle too fast. It’s not that diagnosis because the delusions don’t last. Perhaps it’s anxiety but why did it suddenly flash away. Maybe it’s rapid cycling ocd with paranoid delusional disorder that doesn’t fit any criteria whatsoever. Imagine sitting in a car pressing the gas but the car is in neutral. Energized but immobile. Mind racing but body lethargic. All of this sometimes all at once. Nothing in those professional books were correct. Worse than the issue (for me) was not knowing the issues.
Then, finally, she read to me about the specifiers of bipolar 1. At last, there is a class that I can sit in. Finally what I go through on a regular basis is in print. Finally it can be explained so I don’t feel like I have to compromise reality to be seen. Almost 30 years of almost fitting, and constant sitting in interviews. Even to the point of being accused of faking on an occasion, because if it is serious it should fit the criteria. However, this reflected my sentiments exactly. I didn’t fit. However, the pain was not worth faking. The shaking from anger, the making of manic driving on wrong sides of the road at night. The financial risks that seemed not too risky at all. The forgetting to show up at an appreciation dinner, thrown for me. The mood cycle. The unknown.
Finally, it fell in place. Grant that there are four specifiers that fit, and not just one, but it’s still a start. Here it is for the first time, I have Bipolar 1 with anxious distress, rapid cycling, mixed episodes, and often but not always psychotic features. This is the first time ever that I said that with confidence. This is the first time that I fit. My psychologist will be proud as accepting the diagnosis was part of the treatment plan. Now I can accept it. Now I can truly begin to win since I finally know the obstacles. Sure, I have reluctantly tried to accept this before. I even blogged and made music about it. Yet, I never felt satisfied. It was just close enough. Now it fits. Now I am in class. Now I can begin again with confidence. This is the first time. This is my confession. Almost 50 years old, with many ex friends in the wake of mood cycles. With new understanding of mixed moods. With full assurance that rapid cycling is real and I am not alone. With anxiety and paranoia knocking on the front door. With all of the aforementioned, I still feel good to know that I finally fit in.
There is a place where the dream seems so real, it’s surreal to think that this dream means mania. Not now, but before. Before there was a door to a lake. On the surface, the water faced my direction. In the water, the waves wrote an invisible invitation to walk over and jump in. They promised support. I am sport enough, though, it is tough to think back to the fact that water can not carry the stones that were tossed. But the bobber of the fisherman remains afloat, as does my boat. With a stroke of the pen I signed my name in the air without ink. I guess that means that I didn’t think about the sinking when walking on water was the dream linking the mania, while drinking depression away on the waves. The run on sentence simply foreshadows the reality. Water that holds me in a boat can’t hold me. The drinking was not strong drink, but the loss of thoughts that were already falling to the very place I would be instantly, as the step of security left me looking up to support. The boat floats. The water lied. Weighted down I guess by the manic jacket, the panic attacked me at the bottom of the lake. This quick decent was unique as the boat seemed to lift away from me. The water seemed to speak again stealing my attention from that which was my previous support. This time asking me to breathe like the fish that I see in the sea. For the life of me, I signed my name again, this time with wet ink and no pen. Common knowledge kicks in. The very water needed for life and support let me down in an instant, and offered a watery grave, of which I could write my own name in the sand. How grand to pen my own end.
I can’t control the boat as it floats away. I can’t control what the water will say. I can’t control how I feel today. I can control the pen. I can write my name again. This is manic making me pray for relief. This is panic after support gives way for me.
In the boat again. Not sure how. Willing to float again. Not sure why. The door has closed on the lake. I wonder by who. Mania for the fisherman. Mania is a dream come true.
Please wake me up.
I sign my name.