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Hello all on a beautiful sunny Sunday. I’ve got the back curtain open, looking at the bare, naked trees. So much brown in the winter. The only green is on my face when I think of people in warmer climates. 🙂 Alas, I am here and there’s always hot coffee to warm a soul up.
I’ve been indulging my passion for poetry lately, having discovered a website for working poets and putting my sweat equity into words there lately. Poetry is an interesting thing, if you’re drawn to it. It demands total focus, absolute quiet to go into that Deep Down Well where your true thoughts reside. I’ve posted four pieces so far, and the one that is by far gaining the most attention, comment, discussion, and suggestion that I may be bipolar is a work titled “Asylum For Conflicted Thoughts.” It is a completely true inner conversation I experienced a few months ago at the height of a particularly nasty depressive episode. It’s apparently a bit chilling for non depressed people to read. People with mental issues hugged it to them like I had written a personal anthem just for them, giving voice to their struggles and their hopes.
I don’t believe I am bipolar, as I’ve asked a psychiatrist during a meds check. For you blessedly unmedicated individuals, a meds check is when you go to talk to the doctor and discuss how you’re doing, to see if you need to adjust your dosage, increase it, or just say the heck with it and look for the nearest bridge. Kidding on that last one! I asked her WHAT I was, as I don’t really know. I know I have depression, anxiety sometimes, menopause all the time, excess weight which is either aggravated by the other three or the other three are aggravated by the excess weight. The jury still debates about that one.
She said I am clearly distractible (well, DUHHH!) and yes, depressive, but she did not see bipolar.
Meanwhile, a Christian counselor I saw a few years ago said that, yes, she saw ‘a touch of bipolar’ in me. To which I question, how can you be a bit of something? If you take a pregnancy test and it indicates “young lady, you are indeed a bit pregnant” what do you do with that? Decorate the nursery, or hope the bit goes away and get on with your daily life?
I’m not sure why I’m talking about this today. I suspect because after countless people commented on how accurately I could describe bipolar, I wasn’t sure whether to feel proud that I could paint the scene so well, or go into a panic about a possible new problem to add to my laundry list, or maybe just read each person’s opinion, ponder it a bit, and get on with my day?
The jury will have to debate that one as well.
To fully include you in this debate, I shall include a link for the aforementioned poem. The interesting thing I noticed is that after I physically got the poem down on paper, the harsh inner critic, as I call it, went away and I haven’t heard from it since then. I have no idea what to make of that. Here is the link:
I should warn you that with each piece we publish, we choose a picture to enhance the words. The picture may seem a bit stark. I just received notification that the piece reached All Time Best status. That’s where we poets get to puff up with happiness for a bit!
I do love to write: poetry, this blog, letters, rhymes, jingles, greeting cards. I suspect part of it is because I can control the words that fly out of me fractionally better. Part of it is probably approval seeking on my part. The funny/not funny thing about that is: as I seek approval, I am terrified of rejection. What draws my curiosity about this is, why does approval or rejection from people I don’t sleep with and/or who don’t pay my bills, why does that possibly matter?
I don’t know.