3: Out-of-Order Act III

present moment (unfortunately): voicesarecruelinmyhead. i am helpless at the mercy of this-  taken hostage. i fall and break beyond repair… again. i wanna cry and scream and die or disappear. i can’t do it 100%–  as if holding back for so long today pissed my brain off, so now it won’t allow me the much needed release. tears fill the gaps in my skull anyway, resulting in a pulsing headache– company for the nausea, lightheaded, dizzy anxiety that has been attacking me all fucking day… i feel awful- i did accomplish most of my goals for today… but keeping this anxious horror at bay takes such a huge toll – too exhausted to feel good or ok. ungrateful looser, I am. Out of Order indefinitely. once more, sick cycle. life slips away every second and so do i.



1: Push Play. Act I

Speedwhyareyousoslowwhenyoumustbefast? Thoughts race @ speedoflightorsomethingclose. My brain devours the stimuli, twists my perception until I loosetrackofalltime. The light is both terrifyingandbeautiful. My judgment is lostwithoutGPS but oh well I don’t really know. Yet. Wanna play? Come pushthelimitsof my lust. Not just a hotslavedominatrix but fuckinghilarious. Intelligent too. Ouch! No clue that light burned. You are tired yet I havenotsleptfordays cause I’m the citythatneversleeps haven’t I told you? A shot of adrenalineeuphoriahypesmeup how refreshing- hypomania goes mania. Voice in the very background whispers to be cautious, to be aware of thecrashingfall.SpeedwhyareyouacceleratingwhenImuststop? Dysphoria uninvited. Fuck No!


2: Game Over. Act II

Depression- miserable  part of me. Mania- my personality in excess, more than I can process. Mixed Episodes -me through a  defective lens. Switches are inevitable and  frequent. Complimentary horror comedic show @ my own expense. And I die some more.  I say I’m used to it as an attempt to lessen the manic depressive low blow to my “self”, electric havoc storming my brain.

On rare occasion, I feel mostly well (despite anxiety and/or hostility) past 24 hrs. For a fleeting moment, the stars sing brightly and my life makes sense.

And then the countdown starts. If time reaches hour 48, I join the festivities… ever so cautiously. A high’s only practical application serves as a predictor of a big bad bone crushing brain matter injuring crash on what would be if it ever finishes- day 3. Time rolls, in naked delusion I run, starring my own hypersexual live porn that only exists in my head. But you don’t know that.  On very lucky occasion, I reach 3.75 days of okay-ness…


3,2,1-Boom. Game Over. The bioclock resets itself in bodily painful disdain. Somehow my horror show never goes past Act III. Nor does it wrap up, what the fuck. I just die some more. And I lie some more-voluntary denial to keep me somewhat sane. Albeit so fake, essential to my survival. I no longer fight or flight it- waste of my impaired common sense.

I just brace myself for impact, heal what I can. And I wait but not hoping, as it can be so deceiving. I die some more, fuck this some more.


my brain is on backwards. a cognitive inconvenience i would like to dispute- if only i remembered. an  unwanted, mischievous annoyance to myself that i would love to remedy- if only i could multiple task.  vast knowledge gone but where? another level of bullying, my brain wiped blank of all- except anxiety and bipolar. who would’ve thought  intelligence could turn so dumb…  sharpness of mind could turn elusive…brilliant cognition gone dull…

Me: Then & Now

‘ME’ was a name to an ensemble that looked effortlessly pretty yet was so strangely uncomfortable, like a little black dress you wear on occasion that is now too tight, the once caressing lace now only scratching your skin in dizzy waves of anxiety. From a beautiful delusion of grandeur to a real life minimalist tragedy. From a frantic pace (work.school.play * repeat*) where sleep was for the weak to out of sync steps that seem to extend forever towards a mind grown too full – pushed me out of all games –  a weak one too was I, sad realization.

Appearance always a liar – I say lie it must, otherwise what to do? My fake smile stops halfway, my words reflect the emptiness that inhabits this deprived body. My rehearsed laughter is an octave too high or low, but can anyone tell? They don’t know me – only this phony replica, except for a few.

little black dress


Now… the ‘ME”ensemble is becoming a protective layer, like a sexy 2nd skin wearing lace that caresses my anxious wounds. A tragedy turning surreal and grandiose in flickering waves of hope. With every step, my body starts to synchronize in fluid choreography. My mind expands, and so does my soul. I accept my weakness and within that lies my strength. Not where I desire to be yet – but on my way, after a delay too long to withstand. I slip back and fall hard, so devastated. Then I move forward. Those are the hardest steps to take, right after the fall. I get to show off the ‘ME’ ensemble: not every day, not a long timebut enough to guide my way until ME really is back. Then, MYSELF will be one with ME, the ensemble nothing but a form fitting black dress, with lace.

corrosion anxiety

a chunk of my life taken without consent – tell me how does it feel?

I was young, smart,  pretty,  and mostly successful – though never Type A

a long, resistant chain of unfortunate events full of drama – though not royalty

I lied – until the role I played to survive became embedded within

a hypomanic personality that was consistently depressed – so my therapist said

I agreed – although back then it was so mild & gentle, dressed in lace & deceit

an anxious, suicidal, depressed child I was – fallen, no grace whatsoever

I thought that was over but you proved me wrong, not once or twice but tenfold

a fighter not a quitter I am –  yet you’ve forced me to flee or freeze while undone

I thought I was beyond life or death, only a mere tragic-comedic existence

a chunk of my life taken without consent – answer my fuckin’ question!

you have broken me only to glue me and break into colorful fragments

you infected my spontaneity with a potent extract of routine I can’t swallow

you are a corrosive that has eaten most of everything, including my courage.


you are burning me from far

my words liquefied

you led me to the slaughter – failure once more today

I feel me drown as I’m gone and watch us both – so fun.

anxiety&depression nowdepersonalization home


–there is soothing behind vulnerability & pain / open up, you will feel its silk rub your skin.

–cold, tingling sensation takes place but is it mine? / a little delicacy for this 24/7 overdriven mind.

–there is a flirtatious play of words bouncing in my head / a choreography to distract my thoughts.

–anger glows bright as it paints my black and blue sky/ forcing anxiety to be quiet, to fade, to hide.

my angry calm sky