Rainey Daze and Crazy Nights

Poetry, Paintings, and Ponderings: Through My Eyes

Is Confession Good For The Soul? April 15, 2012

I must confess. No one knows the extent and the depth of my depression and my mania. I have been very careful for years to keep my life compartmentalized, never letting different parts overlap. There are a few people close enough to me that recognize the depression, but they have no idea just how deep and deadly it really is. And everyone thinks the depression comes from life problems. No one suspects that I am clinically depressed. No one knows about the mania, either. Because I am careful, they only see that I’m in a great mood. No one knows about the spending, or the impulsive decisions.


I didn’t hide it on purpose. This has simply been a way to survive. In fact, I just now, in the past two months, recognize the signs of mania and depression. My father suffers from some depression, and I have been prone to it. I just never thought about it because that is how I am. Because the mania is not over the top, full-blown raging mania, I never really thought about that, either.


My oldest daughter is Bipolar. She cycles terribly, sometimes several times in a few minutes. I’m not like that, so I never thought I could be Bipolar. But the past few weeks I have looked closely at some patterns of behavior in my life. I have read about different types of Bipolar Disorder. I recognize myself.


I’ve always been different from everyone else. I think differently, I feel differently. I have come to accept myself as being different. I once thought it was because of the early sexual and emotional abuse I suffered. I now believe it is more than that. I am starting to understand why I am always seeking something, never quite satisfied, knowing something is missing or slightly off-kilter. This brings me some relief, just knowing why. And no, I haven’t yet been to a doctor. (I will go, but I have little to no faith in doctors). This is what I know, deep in my heart and soul. It is the reason I have kept every single person in my life slightly away from my heart; it is the reason I have felt undeserving of anyone’s love.


This brings me to my problem. I know I must seek help. I have managed to make it this far, but my house of cards is about to collapse. I cannot juggle everything in the air any longer. When suicide becomes a daily thought, when walking into the sea just sounds heavenly, I need help. I know this. But how do I come out of the closet? How do I explain to my family that I have a mental disorder that I have managed to hide from them? My husband does not handle my daughter and her problems very well. In fact, he walks away and leaves me to handle it all. He is Mr. Happy-go-lucky, and says he cannot understand anything she does. He has also dumped all the finances on me. He has no idea that bills have not been paid. I have reached the point of ignoring everything unpleasant. I just pretend it is not there; if I don’t think about it, it doesn’t exist, right? (Is that one of the signs of Bipolar, or just a coping mechanism? I don’t know.)


So, friends, what do I do? I am lost. I am alone. I am afraid.


Happy To Live Another Season of Life

My gnarled branches are old and bent

my trunk is thick with rings of age

Younger trees, grown only to my knees

play tag with the blowing wind

Moss and lichen cling to my heavy bark

Scars from insects and birds riddle my body

Many storms I have weathered

Hundreds of branches lost and regrown

and yet I stand, regal and proud

New growth adorning me

crooked fingers reaching skyward

happy to live another season of life.





Becoming a Pebble

I sit on the highest slab of gray rock watching the swirling water below. The ocean slams hungrily against the rocky formations over and over again. The rock seems hard and unbending, but I  know that the water is slowly doing damage as the rock becomes smoother with each wave. It gives away a tiny piece of itself each time the water laps against it. This is what depression does to me. It eats away small pieces of me; pieces that will never be a part of me again. I can make it through, but I am never the same. What will happen when the depression smooths away all the edges, and I become just a small pebble?


Black Tide

A wretched tiredness seeps into my body

weighing down my lead-filled bones

every thought is taxing and painful

any action inconceivable

sleeping makes me need more sleep

ringing phones bury me deeper

the Black Tide is back, pulling me under

the weight of the swirling dark water

comforts me, begs me to just let go

at first it cradles me, rocks me gently

soothes and holds me with grace

slowly i begin to sink as hungry Black Tide

pulls harder, more forceful now

demanding that i comply

Tide is selfish, taking more and more

wanting, needing, devouring my very soul.

“No more struggles,” Tide says seductively

i float away into the darkness, eyes closed

glad the fight is over, then~

i feel a soft nudge against my leaden arm

my eyes open and gaze with wonder

Hope has appeared by my side

“Hang on”,  Hope whispers in my ear

i grasp hold with my last ounce of strength

Hope surges through Black Tide

carrying me up towards the sun

suddenly we burst out of the darkness

Hope gently places me on the warm sand

Exhausted, i lie with quiet gratitude

but the waves of  Black Tide

lap at my feet, waiting to take me