pills, please (that same old diseased feeling)

you can always tell when i'm off meds.

i miss them.

i need them? shit. i'm reading blogs/articles/books/anything. hand over my face sometimes. drunk sometimes. cigarettes back in my life again. where is that elusive a ha moment.

hm... everything is ok right now. hands out in front of me as i move forward, waiting for obstacles to touch my fingers, but so far there is only air. still. calm before the storm and all that right?

sigh. quick fast lungs full of air sigh.

it is impossible to self medicate this feeling. i don't think i have it in me to sell my body for drugs and i like the soft buzz from drinking like a normal person. my other addiction is so taboo i get anxiety just thinking about the screaming consequences of it so i think i should steer clear of it for a while.
[oh how i would love to take a tv, the internet, a bag full of clothes, razors, candy, and marty and just move into a sweet, cold cave]
whatever.
the past few months i've been admitted twice. called begging in the middle of the night, considerably belligerent, sad, crying, talking to the woman on the other end of 911 and telling her i just can't fucking do this. thinking of that deep blackness inside of me at those moments. it makes me cringe. it felt like i could actually do it. and it frightened me so much that like a small child i reached out. pressed the 3 numbers and hoped for the best. both times ending up in handcuffs in the back of police cars.
medicated and trying to talk to doctors while they try to shuffle me out.
health insurance.
god bless america.
i can barely function when i'm crashing. and i have to get health insurance for anyone to give me more than two days worth of help.
i remember the doctor telling me "haven't we seen you before" and i just let my mouth curl.

and now i'm thinking of all this... father's day and whatnot.
that fucking anxiety ripping through me because i just HAD to call and hear his voice.
[what's wrong with me.]
this person, this boy, father of my [ ] child.
look, i'm trying to move on here. i don't even know why i'm trying to explain, i don't have to. i'm just saying. this isn't some tiny thing that happened and now i can't get over it. this is the fault line of life wrenching and twisting apart.
i repeat, whatever.
it could be any situation though. all i know is that i'm dizzy and sick with anxiety and a rushing brain. and all i want is some goddamn pills to make it just STOP for two seconds.

no money.... no sweet calm.

awesome.

it's ok, i'm working again, reading, painting, i have these people in my house who watch me. like a small masochistic toddler.

it's ok. it's ok. it better be ok.

saturation

i have to be up and about in few too many hours. go to bed? pssshhh.
[quick! pull away from the deep spiraling black. think up up up positive up]
things that save me:
-the little red head at work with the bad free style spirit and the ability to make on hell of a cup cake. giddy up.
-coffee with a double shot and caramel and 3 raw sugars.
-my girls, piglet and the jet. my little warriors. my protectors. my spazztastic entertainers.
-recent realizations.
-cigarettes.
-vanilla soy
-the above but with cocoa pebbles.
-late nights.
-driving.
-my duplex with all the lights on and the tv blaring elephant shell.
-drawing little things at work and leaving them in weird places.
-beans in the hoppa.
-black hair dye. sometimes.
-music music music [currently tokyo police club, goldfrapp, the young dubliners, amanda fucking palmer, pj harvey, and elliot smith]
-believing in people that are miles away and still moving. don't look back honey.
-thomas.
-makeovers.
-deep thought in the afternoon hours. when i finally wake up.
-my dreams.
-lunch breaks.
-warm words.

im in combat currently. fighting against the down part of the manic versus the depression. depression is up by alot right now. foul. ugly. sticky. it hurts. bad. and somehow i know i have to turn things around in my head. arms up. guns drawn. fingers itchy im waiting for a moment to move. holding my breath im underwater. fleeing from familiar faces and an even more familiar pain. i hate this. i want to turn my phone off. i want to call in to work and never go back. i want to get in my car and drive just drive to the ocean and run into it. laughing in a way that isnt funny at all. hm. images pour ever and spill into every crevasse of the home that is my brain. the attic has a leak. i have no one to call and im no handy [wo]man. sigh. im up all night. but instead of pacing and chattering im staring and forgetting how to work my xBox. giving up im laying on the couch and the cats crawl on me. maybe they know whats going on. theyre trying to revive me. reminding me to feed them. telling me its going to be ok. but im useless and i reach to touch them but theyve been gone for hours. at work i cant simply cant hold my smile anymore. my regulars tilt their heads and i can only shrug and say its nothing. doesnt matter. and i disappear into the back room to sit and contemplate the dishes. im exhausted i just want to sleep. the bed is huge. the blankets tangle with my hair and im sore everywhere. this is like a bad wellbutrin commercial. im that girl sighing and crying in them. i see myself on there in these commercials for the medication i cant afford. do it yourself doesnt work well with bipolar. ouch ouchie ouch. the things in the list above help. but somehow im always starving for oxygen and scratching my skin. the week just started. awesome.

lets do it.