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Revoking the Recap

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Apr. 17th, 2011 | 08:13 pm
mood: odd
music: Triplag internet radio

After some consideration, I have to say I don't really see the point in expounding every fucked up thing that happened over the last few years. It seemed like it might be good catharsis, but then you'd think by this point in the line I'd have learned that catharsis sometimes turns into a lifestyle.

I'll skip the tales of woe: the only really relevant thing now is that there was a lot of arguing, that I tried to head it off, but that after almost ten years we're still together and I'm trying very hard to let that go. It was bad, but now it's over, now I've got to figure out what to do next.

As of right now, I'm unemployed, halfway through a degree, and at a total loss as to how to recover from five years of near-total isolation. I'm avoiding insanity by child-raising, housework, yard work, arts-n-crafts (broken porcelain statues are my big thing atm), 3D modelling and fluctating obsessions.

The important thing is that I can finally write again. I can't live without it, it's as if my thought process doesn't really complete unless I write something down.

I had some really fucked-up dreams over the last few years, some of which might be interesting as examples of encroaching psychosis. I promise I'm better now, these little earthquakes come and go.

That was something else, I spent a week in the happy house before all was said and done with (Jeremiah was with his aunts). Bipolar II, PTSD and depressive disorder, they said.

Happily, I already know that the PTSD and depressive disorder are most likely the result of the bad end of the bipolar.

See, the thing about coping with these cyclic mood disorders is building up enough slack in the 'up' phase to carry things in the 'down'.
D is bipolar, something I had suspected from long ago, but he's gone so far as to keep a second home to retreat to, and enough social capital from his busy phase to earn him his silence in the bad times. I envy that sometimes, it's my lack of such a safe house that caused things to get so bad, at least in part. I couldn't get away, and it got to where I gave a damn about nothing except for Jeremiah: I was making the best decisions I could, not always the best objectively, but I tried to keep my head on straight. I did well enough that I'm back, mostly...if still confused.

Some benevolent action
Still prayed for, here under in the salty dust
Mortality talks and walks on all eight feet
Hunting the one with the long memory,
Sweathead, scatter-mouth,
The bee queen has her coronation
In the last mausoleum, when the plague has ravaged all.

I feel so

in the oily shadows of the mighty pistons
Hammering haikus, epics, savage black dialect
of the rhythm, somewhere a groaning strut cracks,
The massive engines driving my Titanic -

Silent iceberg, how do I find thee,
If love were hate, or destiny,
Embracing unequivocally
The staccato of my own destruction...


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