Deep Water

You find yourself falling down
Your hopes in the sky
But you heart like grape gum on the ground
And you try to find yourself
In the abstractions of religion
And the cruelty of everyone else
And you wake up to realize
Your standard of living somehow got stuck on survive
Jewel sings that song, and I am feeling it right now, right down to the bones. Once upon a time...a long time ago...but somehow I got stuck in survival mode. It is simply a matter of cleaning up the chaos, gritting my teeth through the next argument with the kids. What else is there suppose to be? I've forgotten...

You realize your only friends
Has never been yourself or
anybody who cared in the end
That's when everything fades or falls away
'Cause the chains which once held us
are only the chains which we've made
For weeks, I have been arguing on and off with Beloved. It is the trick coin, with one side painted white and the other painted black. We are each looking at the same coin, but what we see is different and irreconcilable. I have not been a friend to myself for a very long time, and I push away those who care. No one can care about me! No one! Not even me! Because if anyone cared...if anyone really cared... I have truly forged my own prison.

We've compromised our pride
And sacrificed out health
We must demand more
Not of each other
But more from ourselves
By consistently giving up on my own desires, wants, even my own needs, I have locked myself into a hopeless, dreamless place. I joke about it, but I have gone days without a shower, refusing to give myself even that little kindness. I beg and cry and scream that it is because there isn't enough time, enough hot water, enough...something. Excuses, accusations, procrastinations. No matter how much Beloved steps in, plays the short-stop... No matter how much I demand, it is never going to be enough, because I am not making the demands of the right person.

I realize this, and I do not know how to change it. I am so frightened by who I am in this moment. A quiet little voice of logic insists it is the bipolar-depression talking. This will pass...it always does...I don't mean that...gods, please...just make it all go away!

There are a number of small communication issues that Beloved and I have stumbled over. His extrovert talk verses my introvert talk. The bipolar talk. Confusing possibilities with absolutes.

One of the things "they" say about talking to a bipolar person: 'individuals with bipolar disorder can experience stress when they have difficulty understanding what is being said to them or what is expected of them.' Is it any wonder that I desperately want someone to just tell me where to go, how to fix it, what to dream?

The trouble is that someone is ME!

I have to do it, fix it, dream it! ME, and no one else. It terrifies me.