When your mind's made up

The truth is, I'm struggling so hard just to live right now. People can call me "emo", or "difficult" or whatever it is they want to label me, I really don't care. Except that I do. I think it should be safe for me to write here, or rant here. I know I have two followers, and they both do not know him, so it should be alright. In any case, if I receive complaints, I'll take the post down. I mean no harm. I just need to write this down. I need to acknowledge how I'm feeling.

1.04am, 24 Nov 2011
I've been severely depressed the whole day. I am missing the people who left my life - whether by choice, or by death. I feel crippled. I have no one. My fiance and I broke up because he fell for someone else. He said I was too difficult to handle, and she was the "better" choice. I wish I never had bipolar.

I wish I was dead. I would want to take my own life. But I've tried it before. And two years ago, I tried it and ended up causing more trouble instead. That was what led my ex to fall for someone else. That was what made me alone.

Maybe I shouldn't bother.

~~~~~~

He kept saying, even after we were over, that she is the true one he really loves. I hope one day they'll be together. I am very angry at him, and the many things that have happened, but I wish him the best. Except that it's crippling me inside.

I have "uncertain" feelings for other people, too. But I'll probably never act out on them ever again, because the last time I did, I got a big blow right at my face. And now the person is keeping away from me. I wish I knew what I did wrong. I wish we could still be friends.

So the other day I was talking to a friend, and I said that I was tired of making the first move. I was tired of even bringing things up, athough this confuses me so. You see, I have lost people in my past, some by death. And I regret completely for not being honest with telling them about how I feel. So I chose a different route. I chose to tell them how I feel, as long as I'm still alive. But then they shun away. They run away.

Am I really that scary?

I thought he was the right one. Now I feel like no one can ever love me or accept me for who I am, including the fact that I have bipolar. The break up happened three months ago, I thought I would have felt better by now, but I still feel miserable. And every time I see him, I can't help but feel so hurt. I'm reminded of someone who went down on his knees and made promises he couldn't even keep.

I've always been unlucky in love, so when he happened, I thought that I had my break. But now it all seems to fall apart. I just feel so hurt.

~~~~~~

I have been going through such a rough time. Some days I am happier that he is gone, but some days I can't help but remember the better days (or, when I'm "sane", I call them my more manic days; when every thing seems fine and dandy even when they actually weren't). I am an artist - I'm an actor and writer, and I wish I was more inspired during moments like these. I do think that these moments of neuroses do help with my craft, though. At least I'm trying to look at the brighter side of things.

~~~~~~

2.20pm, 24 Nov 2011
It's 2.20pm, I just woke up and I still feel terribly depressed. I don't feel like I'll ever be okay ever again. I'm so sorry for bringing negative energy here. When my ex-fiance and I were together, he always said I always bring people down. He said I was good for nothing. I asked him why I was always proud of him, but he was never proud of me, and he said that it was because I did nothing.

I'll never bother any of you ever again. If you want to find me, you know where to find me. Otherwise, goodbye, have a nice life.

And it kills me that to every person I have ever said "I love you" to, I have meant it.

And it kills me knowing that they never did.

A blessing or a curse

Today, I heard of a guy who apparently attempted to cycle to Afghanistan to help liberate the people there. He didn't even get past the Malaysian borders. He didn't even have a passport. Apparently he didn't even leave the vicinity of KL. The authorities stopped him, and started interrogating.

But here's the thing. It triggered something in me. For someone to do such a thing, to possibly just wake up one morning and decide to go on a mission, that person has to have some bipolar quirks. There's no other way to say it, or explain it. There is only one thing that can drive a person to do such a thing; an act out of compulsion that baffles many - mania. When one is manic, that person can do many things that the person can't even explain why or how...

Which got me to thinking. I realised that my bipolar disorder was both a blessing and a curse. I mean, if I never had this illness, I don't think I would have lived my life the way I did. In fact, most of my living was done out of compulsions and impulse. Living feels free when you are manic. You are in control, you are happy, you are literally on top of the world. On numerous occasions, I have felt like I was set up on a mission. I read an article somewhere about someone who was bipolar who offered to drive a busload of kids somewhere, and halfway through, he got bored and just left. A little selfish, definitely, but who else would do something like that? To visit the extreme of life?

But sometimes, I do wonder, if I'm old and dying and when I think back upon my life, will I just see specks of craziness that peppered my entire life? I sometimes wish for stability - to wake up feeling one way, and to go to bed feeling the same. And NOT feeling numb, or numbed by the pain. I always say this, but I can't help but feel this way: that I never asked to be born with this; I didn't choose it, it chose me. For some reason, it chose me.

So I have no choice but to fight it, or succumb to it, or basically, live with it. This illness makes me strange. And people don't like strange. This illness ruined all my relationships. Nobody could accept me fully for who I am, or was, because of what I have (even before I was diagnosed). Relationships are ruined by violence; fiery words that meet fist fights and tight slaps, especially when I encounter another person who has issues. My bipolar is made worse when I am with someone volatile. It becomes undeniably an abusive relationship, though it took me years to realise this. And just like most abusive relationships, you can't get out. You simply can't. On good, manic days, you only see the good in your partner and yourself, and there is no other craziness that resembles the euphoria of love like mania. Then the bad days come, and you cower, with no self-confidence, taking in word after word after word, bringing you down, down, down, into the lowest point you can get to. On even worse days, the relationship turns physically abusive - from slaps to punches on the stomach to hair pulling to shoving.

It has come to a point where I realise my struggles with bipolar will always be a personal struggle. To however amount I affect others, I am always alone.

After all, when I was in the hospital, having nurses pump my stomach, I was literally alone. I had no one to hold my hand. All I could hear was the voice of a nurse taunting me, asking me why I didn't just swallow the entire bottle.

And later on, to hear from a doctor that I took enough of it that I could have killed a horse. But I lived. For some strange reason, I lived.

So on days and nights when I feel like I have no purpose, I think back to that night. And I wonder why I lived. So maybe I'll never have relationships. Maybe I'll never have a proper career. Maybe I'll never be able to have a family. Maybe, simply put, nobody will want me.

But here's the deal. I am here. I am alive. My fingers are slowly letting go of this string called life, but I'm still hanging on.

This needs no title

It's 4.40am as I'm typing this. There are just a few things I want to say. One: I want to thank you readers for leaving encouraging comments. Even when I don't reply, I definitely take heed or take what you say into consideration. Thank you. Two: I'm feeling quite miserable tonight. It's a cold night, so it gets pretty lonely. I'm sure I'll be able to get through the night, I guess I just need to write a little.

I was going to post this on my Facebook, but I don't know why I didn't. Self-censorship, perhaps. There, it is for the entire world (well, all the people in my friends list) to see. But here, I know only a few will see this. And if you found your way here, I guess it means you care enough to want to know how I'm doing. So this was what I wanted to say on Facebook:

"Marvellous. It's 4.30am. I have a cold and I can't breathe. Running my hair dryer on full speed all over my body. Crazily hungry. I want KFC, laksa, and chicken chop.

But what I really NEED is some sleep. It's been eluding me like this thing called "love". Why am I rambling? This is what happens when you don't get enough sleep, and your brain and heart are deprived of the source of life.

Yes. Let's keep it at that."

It's just a little hard tonight. There's a small part of me that craves the human touch. The little girl in me wants to hugged to sleep tonight. But maybe it's not just the little girl in me. Maybe I want to held as a grown woman. I want someone to hold me tight. It's made harder when I do have someone in mind, and I actually wonder if that person even gives me two hoots about nothing. And who cares if I'm using the correct expression?

I'm so tired. I really need to sleep.

I shouldn't be thinking about people at this point. But it's funny, really. It's always the people that drive you crazy. People. People. People.


Or person.

Damn this heart.

All the good men are gay, taken or fictional characters

I'm writing because I don't think anyone would read this, and I needed a form of release. It's strange, because in a way, I want people to know (I AM tired of hiding what I have), and in another way, I am slightly ashamed. Not in a hang-down-your-head kind of shame, but in a slight, pulling-my-skirt-below-my-knee kind of shame. A certain kind of shyness, perhaps.

I don't think I need to be ashamed, especially because I did choose to come out with it. It was my decision, and no one else's. But here's the thing. Some people may now know that I have bipolar disorder, but they don't know the implications of me having this illness.

This is not a project paper, so why bother going into details? Not now, and besides, there are plenty of those to be found online. Google "bipolar disorder" and you get various answers. Many answers.

One thing, however, that people don't talk about much, because it's such a taboo, because it's such a hush-hush situation, is that this disorder also causes one thing - hypersexuality. What this means, in simple words, is that we're hornier creatures than usual people. Pardon my crude language, but I couldn't think of a better way to put that forward. It apparently affects up to 80% of people with this disorder.

And let me tell you where the problem comes in (not intended to be punny, NO):

When you're single, and no available man seems to be in your horizon.

There. Because I find it funny, that in my case, my medications messed up my unusually high drive. I suddenly lost interest altogether, and couldn't be bothered. But when I did feel like it, it was as if I could never be satisfied. Rarely, at least. But when I felt like it, it felt like I could keep on going. Or at least I wanted to.

But you know that feeling when you've just gotten single recently? Well, besides the fact that the feeling obviously sucks. Besides the fact that you've gotten your heart broken AGAIN (or, in this case, again and again). There is so much pain, but that's besides the point. As you can see, racing thoughts and the inability to focus are also problems associated with bipolar disorder. So back to what I was saying. So, when one recently becomes single again, and has no means to obtain intimacy... anyway, no, that's besides the point too.

What I AM trying to say is that for some reason that is personal to me, yet unfathomable to myself, I equate sex with intimacy with trust with... love. Or feelings, to put simply. I need to have feelings for someone to be truly intimate with that person. Uh, kissing people don't count. What I mean is true intimacy. And I have been described from being extremely shy to wild and free when it comes to giving and making love. I have been overwhelmed with emotions before; I have cried.

So yes, this post is actually an emotional post. I am feeling lonely, and the lack of intimacy or human touch is killing me. And it doesn't help that being hypomanic (on and off) revs my sex drive.

But what I truly miss is someone stroking my hair and holding me tight.

Why must every awesome man out there be gay, taken, fictional characters, or not interested in me? OR they might be, but I don't know? I'm not? Or maybe, I don't know. There's no chemistry? Or they just don't even show interest.

Or I'm too blind. Either I think someone likes me when they don't (yes, I'm that stupid, this happened once). OR I think someone doesn't like me and they actually do!! And sometimes they don't even tell, like, for years. WHYYYY?

So I'm going to decide whether I'm going to settle for intimacy without the feelings, or stick with my feelings but if I do (stick with my feelings, that is), I'm pretty much stuck. Because my heart, right now, is not by my side.

I am very open to someone stealing it away, though.

Somehow, someway, I am still a (hopeful) romantic.