Monday is my therapy day, in case you didn’t know already. Today, I cried a LOT in group and in individual, but I stuck it out and didn’t leave (even though I really wanted to). I have been drifting and feeling without purpose. I know I have said this multiple times, but it has really been bothering me.

So, today in individual session, we talked about the lack of structure in my life and how it perpetuates my feelings of inadequacy and depression. Granted, being bipolar and having a neurochemistry dysfunction doesn’t help.

So, I am sitting here trying to figure out what to do with my life that adds structure and value. Writing is one thing, but my mind does not always allow for that. The muse does not always meet me at my desk, or anywhere for that matter. Sometimes, she is on vacation, just like my ability to make healthy decisions. So, what does a lady do?

I am not sure what some people may do, but I use a spreadsheet. At least until I get my priorities in line. So, I made a basic schedule and then a list of things to do in addition to my schedule, as I have time. The key to this is being realistic. REALITY SUCKS!!!

Another thing to remember is that this process is key to building a life worth living. It is a lot of work, at first. But, in the end, it will prove useful and help me to stay focused on reasons for living, instead of reasons not to die.

Truth bomb: I’ve been struggling with suicidal thoughts lately. I am perfectly safe, just in the gray area of thinking about it. I have limited reasons to keep going, but I will because I do not want to destroy my family or abandon my dog.

fullsizeoutput_1a2So, as you can see, this finding structure and looking for some pattern in my life is key to my having a meaningful life and believing in my worth to the world. So, tomorrow starts some goals and trying to fill my day with meaningful activities.

Wish me luck.




Process makes normal such a chore

But then you wake up and there it is:

Your mind

The process doesn’t seem so hard when it’s there


It isn’t always this way.


Sometimes, it is silence working its way

through your mind, snuffing every sense until

nothing is left

Then—yes then—death is welcomed


Sometimes, it is a roaring

Every synapse humming,

intensely aware of all that you are

and could be


Sometimes, it is an hour

a day

a week

a month

a year

of not knowing normal

Flitting between the rush and silence


Intervention involves objectivity

and the process again,

a chore of eating and sleeping

and pills and persons outside

Inside is madness and a lack of insight

and this unspeakable terror that normal

is gone.



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