Thirty-First - Stream of Consciousness

This is a stream of consciousness post. I am trying to write because I am on a self-appointed deadline and I want to finish my books early so I can perhaps publish them early but I don't know if it's possible. With my fiance moving in, my daughter moving back in with me, I will be heavily distracted. If James gets a job during the hours that my daughter is at school, I will perhaps have six hours to myself to create but will that be enough? I am a skilled enough typist but the problem is arisen where my mind is not as quick, not as sharp as it used to be and I wonder if I have enough brainpower to manifest a story, the poetry, the short stories, as quickly as I created the first three chapters of my novel. I am doing my best, but I am succumbing to doubt. Am I an author? Will my product be good enough? Will people buy it? What is my motivation for writing? I've wanted to be an author ever since I was little. I thrived when it was writing time. I feel blessed that I was enrolled in schools that encouraged creativity, imagination, and innovation. I hope I can achieve my dreams. I cannot imagine the joy I will feel as I publish my books. I will officially be an author when that happens. No one will be able to tell me different. I will be create my own destiny. I only wonder if I have the strength. 

Post-traumatic stress disorder and mental conditioning thrust upon me by other parties, namely my family, have crippled me. Am I intelligent? Everyone says so. Even my detractors have always told me I'm smart. It's funny how some people claim I'm manipulative and successful at getting people to do what I want, but I am also stupid. That makes no sense. It takes some sort of cunning to manipulate people, and while I know I possess some small part of it, I have no desire to manipulate people. I want people to want me - my company, my body, my friendship. If I have to manipulate them into giving that desire to me, I no longer have value for the relationship. It's really very simple. I just need to get all these racing thoughts out of my head. 

I despise bipolar disorder. I take my medications faithfully and I do my best to surround myself with peace and calm, but sometimes the manic episodes sneak in and I can't shut up my mind. I wish my novel flowed as easily as this post is flowing. But I am so self conscious about how the end product will be received that I second guess every word I write. What am I to do? I suppose I could turn to my Ativan, but I really don't want to abuse it. I just need something stronger. It is when I am like this that I fear my future. Notice how I went from declaring my destiny as my own to create to fearing my destiny as if it's out of my control. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. 

Thirtieth

It is a very curious thing to be conscious of one’s own bliss.

Time slows down and I’m aware solely of the soul-flight of rapturous delight that elevates me into hyper-awareness. Perhaps it is the stark contrast of the sheer radiance of happiness with the persistent darkness within my life that allows me to recall it so vividly. Compared to the dysphoric mania that I experience as a result of my bipolar disorder, those particular blissful moments are unadulterated euphoria.

Some people with bipolar disorder experience euphoric “highs” when they are manic. Every second is a high-energy rush and they feel they are invincible. They often engage in high-risk activities when experiencing their brand of mania – sexual promiscuity, reckless driving, gambling, etc. On the other hand, I experience dysphoric mania which is characterized by the same high levels of energy, but that energy manifests as anxiety, racing thoughts, and despair. It is physically painful to endure. My heart races, my mind won’t shut up, and I want to die.

Nine times out of ten, my bliss washes upon me because of one of three things.

The people in my life – my daughter, my lover, my friends
Reading – losing myself in a different world, a different reality
Writing – my blog, my novel, my poetry
 

Those three things are my lifelines. My escapes from a world that is usually so much darker than I perceive I can handle. At least, in my shadowed moments, I feel I cannot endure. But I always do. I am always risen again. Like a phoenix, like the Christ, like the flowers that bloom with the dawn, I always rise.

Twenty-Ninth

Hello! It's time again for Velvet Verbosity's 100 word story prompt of the week! This week, my story is titled Sarah.

Be kind.

Sarah knelt in the mud, but didn’t feel the puddle seep into her uniform. She was focused. “There, see the tracks? It looks like something was dragged into that tunnel.” She gestured with her gun at the maintenance tunnel off the boardwalk in the park. She rose. 

She led her team of investigators to the humble, grey chasm. With her flashlight in one hand and her gun in the other, she approached. Her light fell upon the black spaces between ligaments. Whatever was left of Molly Stevens, it wasn’t enough to make a positive identification.  Another find for Sarah Cooper.

Twenty-Eighth

In the movie “The Frog Prince” from Cannon Movie Tales, the Frog places Princess Zora in front of the mirror and says, “If you look long enough, you’ll see how other people see you.” Like Zora, I have received conflicting messages from those around me for my entire life. I’ve been told I’m kind, sweet, beautiful on the inside and out by most of my peers. My family has said the same things to me, although most of the time they turn around and tell me the opposite whenever they are annoyed with me. Men have had no trouble using my body to receive pleasure although I assume they never quite found me attractive enough to want to commit.

While I have the most trouble with my body, my perception of my personality is also distorted. My bipolar disorder and my borderline personality disorder have resulted in some pretty unsavory traits. I am a bona fide attention whore, and I will go to any lengths to get it when I feel like I am not getting enough from those around me.  I am also a liar. Ironically, I rarely lie on the internet. I instead use the safety of the internet’s anonymity to reveal the distasteful truths about myself and my philosophies. However, in the “real world,” I lie so easily that I often don’t realize I was dishonest until I reflect back upon my encounters throughout the day.  I adopt new personalities so easily, I imagine that is where my identity crisis stems from. I don’t know who I am or what I believe.  Like Marina and the Diamonds says, “I’ve lived a lot of different lives,been different people many times….Got different people inside my head. I wonderwhich one that they like best?”

It is so refreshing for me to meet people with a secure understanding of who they are and where they are going. I crave those interactions with people that help me see what I desperately desire. A sense of identity. To know that it is possible for me to become Heather, to be the best person I can be without having to shift personalities so often.

Maybe, like Zora, I will someday believe that I am ravishing, scrumptious, and exquisite.