New Year, New Possibilies

Despite my #depression I have managed to be somewhat productive today. This week has been rough. Getting out of bed has been a struggle everyday.

On a better note I now have #HealthInsurance and can start getting the #MentalHealthCare I need. This is a privilege that not all #bipolar and #mentallyIll individuals have.

Finding supportive communities and discounted care for something as still unknown as depression and all the variations that are associated with the mind is difficult to find.

From April until Jan 1, 2015 I had no insurance, my medical bills are huge and cause me great anxiety. I am blessed with a partner that is willing and able to help reduce my stress/ #anxiety levels when it comes to these things. But, given my nature and "#psychosis" I still have extreme anxiety about it and almost every other aspect of my life.

On a brighter note I have taken up photography as an amature hobbie.

Taking pictures with the SLR camera my sister is letting me borrow has helped me bring out my artistic side and to show the world through  my eyes. 

The little things are still my big achievements of any given day. 

As always, I tend to update my #Facebook page more often than I blog: I Have Bipolar II 

Why do we scream?

Seriously though, I watch movies and shows and people just start #screaming, what happened to fight for flight? No, let's just stand there and #scream as the killer/attacker/accident takes place. I understand being frozen in fear, but screaming too?

What causes us to scream instead of running away or fighting? Screaming accomplishes little to nothing...

And it appears to be males and females alike, although more females than males? Are we going back to our ancestral nature to call for help in a time where words didn't exist as we know them today? The mate calling for help?

Just weird thoughts in my head. I know about "screaming" #therapy, is it a similar thing? Some people just instinctively scream instead of protecting themselves?

Of course these questions come from watching too many TV shows and movies, I'm sure. And maybe it's all to pull the viewer into suspense? Or is it something that we truly do in real life based on some primal level of our own selves?

Day to day; week to week

This week has been rough, with a few exceptions. 

Today started out slow, but I decided to spend some time downstairs. 

That, of course, lead to watering all the plants. Unloading, loading, running and unloading again the dishwasher. 

The holiday music is playing and for the moment I feel pretty good. 

I have to latch onto these moments so that when the #depression comes barreling down on me I can try to remember all the #good.

Sailing - Christopher Cross

Emotional Release

I am participating in #NaNoWriMo again this year.

I'm going about it differently. I'm combining my reaction to my mother's death 4 and a half years ago and my recent diagnosis.

Combing over old journal entries. Retracing the steps of my past. Has difficult as this is I can only hope that it will help in my grieving process and my personal growth.

I have never "won" NaNoWriMo, I simply try each year to write that novel/story/memoir that I know is trapped in my mind.

I write in hopes to discovering myself. In hopes of truly telling my story. With the desire to share with the world that they are not alone.

This will not be an easy journey. This path I'm about to walk down will be full of grief, confusion, frustration and deep sorrow for things lost that can never be retrieved again.

You can follow my progress at: http://nanowrimo.org/participants/geminifaerie.

Here I go. Here I walk down a path I do not know where it will lead nor do I know who I will be when all is done.

Thoughts that linger

I am lost in a sea of emotions. 

Poem. Lost thoughts.

I sit here, reading and bored. Why do we keep going on as we do? I want to cry. I want to throw up. I want to run away from myself. I am sad. I have lost so much and gained so much and lost again.

I want to go home and not leave the house. Stay curled up in bed. Waiting. 

Waiting for time to pass. Waiting to be held. Waiting to understand myself. 

How long will that take? How much money have we lost? How much pain have I caused? 

Where am I going? What do I want? I want love and even a small understanding of my confusion. 

I spin. I drum. I sing. I cry. I sleep. Sometimes I eat. Sometimes I dance. I move back and forth between two places. Everything else scares me. 

I fear judgement. I fear being declared a fake. Am I? Have I taken advantage of my position? Have I lost track of my journey that I no longer know where I am going or who with? 

How easy is it to forget me? 

I am cold. I am always cold. I do not hunger. I ache. The answer is within me and I cannot find it. Any idea is a good idea. Is anyone listening? 

I cannot share these things with others. If I do then I have laid my burden before them and in a way asked them to carry it. For me? With me? I do not know. But no one should have to carry my burden. No matter how small or big. I am lost and cannot be found. 

How long before the new is no longer exciting and I grow old of it? How long before others grow old of me? How much longer must I deal with myself? The anxiety builds. I find so little pleasure in so few things. 

That which I once loved I care little for. That which I once dreamed I have forgotten. Where am I? Who am I? Why am I here? What is my purpose? Why is it so hard for me to be happy?