Her tears fall down from heaven in streams,

my shame eats at my soul.

Please, oh please, forgive this daughter of yours,

mother, while I try working hard for a new day.

Hear my cries and end the streams,

of this never-ending sorrow.

I promise to wake up soon, one day,

never spilling red waves on the tiles of the morrow.

 

Grief, loss, depression: Dreams of Death hunt my every hour

I thought it started in 2014, the year both my maternal grandfather and dad died, that my grief took my bipolar from simple ups and downs of a roller coaster that it finally became to a nose dive into the pits of hell.

But, in reality, that was not even close to were my path of upheaval began.

They say that many actors, artist and those with the creative touch have a bit of madness about them…I believe it very much. I live this too much in my strange reality that is my so-called life. Born in 1982, to high school sweethearts, I had underdeveloped lungs along with a few other problems. These do not bother me that much now. What does? What bothers me now is how often I think of death.

Death. The death of my three grandfathers, my daddy, my memaw, my cousin who was too young to die; I think of them all the time. And, I think of my own little deaths. The death of my innocence at the tender age of 5. The death of friendships, both past, and present due to moves or my behavior.

Death is in my waking and my sleeping thoughts and I can never escape it. This Reaper won’t leave me be. Death hunts me in my dreams and the images can be cruel while in the light of sun you would think they would burn from my mind, but no they can be even more wicked and I shudder.

Today, I emptied a full bottle of pills, not vitamins, with the intent to take them all. At this point, I put them back in and placed them next to my other meds. Bipolar is a Bitch to shake.

I am unstable and school, I’m to start classes again in about 5-6 hours. I’m not going, again and this time is the last try. I need to admit myself to the hospital. I have never taken the pills out like that. I’ve put them in pill boxes but not this way. I can’t do this. I just can’t. I have fucked up!!!

Back to my original statement… sorry for Rambling – I warned you with the name of the site, so no complaints on that. yeah?

My point is that my grief started when I was too young to know what that and loss were. A little kid doesn’t know, and shouldn’t need to know what this kind of pain of loss, physical, mental and emotional are.

Now, as an adult, I don’t know what I am doing. I am lost and feel like I am a drag of society. I am not ignorant. Far from it. I have higher learning and if my life hadn’t been hell I would have more than one degree my now, but I don’t. I don’t even have my first BA. With this, I feel shame. I see this as a fail on my part in life. I pace in my mind over and over hoping I can do it by knowing I can’t.

I love life, learning, kids, nature, art, music, dance, cultures, history and everything about our world; and yet my mind hates me.

Smiling on the outside, doing my best to let people know they matter to the world, I down my own self daily and never wish the same thing for me.

 

 

Above photos feature people I have lost

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