Dog Paws on a Keyboard


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I write because I want to be fed Milk Bones.

Sometimes I crave recognition and commentary as a reassurance that I might be better than average, even excel at something. Everyone wants to know that they have a gift, some form of prowess, a “something exceptional” that deserves an attaboy pat on the head.

I write because I need to catch a bouncing tennis ball.

At other points, the words pour with alacrity, urgent, demanding, and a quench to the heated thoughts being forged in reaction to an onslaught of emotional intensity. Good, bad, high flying optimism, crumbling shades of depression, maniacal exuberance, blaspheming anger blinding out reason, blue oceans of regret and shame – any and all as long as the fire burns hot enough to crack the walls.

I write because I like eating my chew toy.

Rare is the moment of universal quiet when thought retains an unadulterated purity unstained by dramatic flare, event or heart or mind driven twinge. When understanding is met or sought, clarity is both absent and present, and where the exercise itself serves the purpose.

I write because I’m a dog, and a keyboard feels like a warm blanket and pillow on a snow day.

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Insomniac in the Morning


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Another night is gone,

The goddamn birds are chirping,

And while I think I was productive,

I’m sure it wasn’t worth it.

My eyeballs ache from skullbound flashes,

Each tendon in my body is moaning,

The sun and sky are so bright with light,

That “back inside” seems to be an order instead of what’s right,

I hang back at the door, or sheet, or flap,

Screwing up my mind and face to think about,

Why despite the price,

I race the setting rays into the West,

A challenge that bears no chance to win and promises self inflicted malice.

Yet….

It feels so nice to taste the liquor of the stars,

While moonlight drips down as whimsy scented honey,

Transforming us all into the Cosmos serving bar.

Thick blue hued amber smoked into an untouchable glow,

Spirit boosting tinsel to top our nightly gifted box.

Conjures whims and true lunacy,

Sets the true Faithful afloat,

In a boat atop the inbound light.

So freeing,

So, so, slow.

Is BiPolar Mania a Drug to an Addict?


From a general standpoint, every mental illness (at least in my experience) offers it’s afflicted a slightly varied experience from the next in line. The numbers rattle off to “BiPolar Disorder Type I – Last Manic Episode Severe w/o Psychosis.” Next up is the well beloved Attention Deficit Hyperactive Disorder (ADHD) rounding out with Borderline Personality Disorder for good measure.

In a world of “medicated everyone” not many people blink an eye when the sack of pills comes out. Though in a strangely uncomfortable way it occasionally strikes me to explain what they’re all for and watch them adjust their demeanor in that so common and anxiously polite manner I’ve come to expect.

Here’s the kicker. When I was running a sales organization with a 150 reps, and quotas, plane travel 5 days a week – outside of the unchecked alcoholism at the time – you would never have known. The counselor that has finally found a checkmark next to his name for me continuously tries to reinforce that the mania can be used as an asset, a tool.

That’s where the differentiations come in for all of us.

In the early stages, mania feels like the beginning of fearless adrenaline rush without any edge. Endless possibilities are all within easy reach potentially. The stacks of chaotic problems encroaching all around are not only solvable but nearly laughable in their simplicity. With a blossoming confidence that transcends arrogance to simply become conviction that ANYTHING that I want to do right now I could do. Usually, I start walking, headphones in, my face will become unable to hold onto anything but a ear splitting toothed smile as I laugh out loud looking at the oncoming traffic. Air crisps or whistles across my skin. It’s the first moment you meet a new woman, it’s the first cigarette in the morning, it’s a tank of gas in the car and a world to explore, and it’s far to exquisitely perfect to be sustainable.

For me, this is where it starts. To the reader, if you felt as though there was nothing you couldn’t accomplish, the world was your oyster for a day – would you find it tempting to hold onto that?

Challenge #1 with comorbidity and dually diagnosed:

  • Regardless of consequences, addiction says “If it feels good, do it. Do it again….”
  • Mania can feel equally as potent as the strongest narcotics, with the same hazing of rational cause/effect evaluation.

The logical outcome is the circular pattern of up, down, feel bad, look for other options. Recovering from addiction is reliant almost entirely on the willingness to simply hand in the weapons and stop fighting. Surrender to the reality it is a losing fight, and if you stay away from using, you are on your way to brighter things.

Mania is deceitful though. Sure, it’s easy to throw an ungodly sum of anti-psychotics down someone’s throat until the pattern may well be nearly impossible to repeat. It could be argued on some level, that while a Thorazine shuffle isn’t a high quality of life, if it’s sufficient to overcome the initial hurdles of early sobriety without a high flying manic swing knocking you off the tracks, I don’t know how hard I’d argue against it.

That said, I’m a stubborn and foolish individual who continues to bolster the thought that, “If we just edge down the manic swings a touch so that I don’t feel like me I bet it would work…”

The reality is that I’m trying to stay high without thinking of it that way directly. My brain will pull magnificently orchestrated rationalizations out of the neurons they were stuffed for a rainy day until I’m willing to concede, that maybe, just maybe, this time everything will balance out. This is where the big kicker comes into play.

Challenge #2 deals with facts:

  • Not only do I know that I can do anything while manic, I’ve proved it to myself so many times over that it feels like I’m reliant on the mania to accomplish anything. Without tipping off into psychosis (which I’m blessed to not endure), in full blown mania, I truly will be the bizarrely entertaining, wildly offensive yet endearing, crazy charismatic and charmingly maniacal life of any party. FYI – sales is both a great and terrible place to put this to use.
  • Factually, I know that I only will have about 1-2 days of the enjoyable mania before it starts to turn me into something wildly unpredictable, sleep deprived, and consumed with a NEED for more – which inevitably leads into the cycle all over again.

 

I had written something try and put it in perspective for my poor parents who have watched this for 15+ years. Mania tried to capture all the blended excitement and frustration attendant with the feeling.

In essence, as everything builds up further and further, I force myself into a corner where the only outcome is going to be using my own self prescribed medication, or face another hospital which in the throes of mania seems completely ludicrous.

I recognize that the world looks at the series of insane adventures that have certainly occurred, the days without sleep, the spontaneous flights of fancy and even actual flights as something only a “crazy” person would do. Certainly, there is an element out of the norm, that’s why I’m taking medication and working on counseling in the first place. But for all the oddness, I delude myself with imagining that there is an element of jealousy beneath the demeaning words tossed around.

When things fade down, I’m always certain to get right back into the cycle with meds, visits, check-ups, retrospection. Invariably when the cycle completes I’ve lost my job, money is gone, probably overdosed once, and I’m homeless and coming back to family with my hand out. There is an absolutely bittersweet element to everything related to the upswings in BPD (much as I’m sure there are to the down as well).

This is not a life that I want to lead. I am working to follow the directions and accept the help of those still willing to offer it. So often though – just like with drugs and alcohol – all the progress fades away when the world takes on that special hue, sharpens up, and the rush comes on. I’ve lost homes, my wife, family, my life 6x (god bless Narcan), and even access to see my children for fear I’ll disappear again and leave them devastated. In the same breath, I left my pregnant wife nearly bankrupt and verging on foreclosure before she divorced me, and since, there are wide oceans of wreckage that spill against the happy homes of those that dared to care.

If you happen to see someone else having the time of their life while they pour gasoline on everything they’ve worked so hard for – speaking from experience – the smile is masking a far greater pain and frustration then is easily seen.

Tears from laughter and tears from misery both look the same.

This was originally written as an awareness building essay for another site that didn’t use it, so I’ll feed myself (and anyone who cares to listen to me prattle) the leftovers. Thank you for reading, and I really would love to hear your thoughts on the topic. ~S

The Rules


 

ADULT:

“Thanks for the signpost there world,

Good to know where the cliffs and hot stoves are,

I’m not sure I totally understand all the reasons why,

But that’s okay – keeps me from getting hurt.”

“TEEN”

“Your rules suck,

You don’t understand me or what I need at all,

I know enough to know I’ll be fine which means you just don’t get it.

I’m absolutely going to get away with it, maybe, if I know I won’t get caught.”

CHILD:

“Why?

What will happen?

I’m probably going to be upset even if you tell me,

But eventually I’ll trust why you say no,

Be patient because I’m still learning.”

ADDICTS:

“You put up a something in front of me and now it’s in my way,

There are a million reasons that I need to be over that obstacle and you don’t understand or really appreciate them anyways,

I’m different from you in so many ways that I can barely imagine what that rule is about,

Doesn’t really matter much because I’m going to do what has to be done anyways,

If that means I have to explain why i did it afterwards,

The rules are there to be broken anyways,

Loosen up and just let me do what I want to,

This is happening one way or another so help me or just move aside,

Fuck it.”

BI-POLAR (Type 1) FULL MANIA:

“Interesting that you feel that way,

However because you don’t understand that this is connected to the three things I’m working on here which are actually very important to you it must be a mistake that this obstacle is here and I will have to just go around it or through it or maybe change how I see it so that its not actually there at all,

That first push didn’t really work and now I’m really quite angry at this entire arrangement and the ways that is is keeping me from doing what I should actually be doing right now so I’ll have to do this again and more clearly figure out how to get this done like only I can do,

Alright, I’m way more clever then you and this is total bullshit that you’re still in my way despite this fascinating understanding I have of what the other side of this looks like and how good its going to be,

Fuck, I kind of forgot why I wanted to do this in the first place, but there’s a lot of pressure around me getting it done and I made a decision to do it originally for some reason that will surely become clear since nothing bad will be able to happen to me after I take the steps that I’ll figure out when I get to that point and anyways this is way more important then the reasons why you think I shouldn’t especially since I could do anything damn near perfectly right now and that looks like a lot of fun,

Get out of my way or I’m going to snap and that’s not going to be pretty.

I’m just going to do this now.

Wow, that was interesting, but look, another wall, I bet there’s something pretty cool behind it….”

He was a cat, and lived in a pink room.


 

Living like a cat last summer,

Couldn’t afford sheets or real food,

But the room was a soft pink,

And the lumpy mattress felt softer than the bricks.

 

Living like a cat I was,

Crawling under piles of clothes to nap,

Eating cans of tuna (pocket sized),

Basking in the sun so the shade felt cooler.

 

Cat life is great for those critters,

But at 6’+ and a bundle of seething “more,”

It’s feline for some but didn’t sit right on me,

So I’ll gladly hand it back this time around.

 

Feeling a bit more canine today.

 

Though cans of tuna still roll free,

I have a forever human to lick,

Hopefully I’ll get older than a pup –

— goddamn pet control still wants to lock me up.

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The Pink Room in its Reflective Glory

Birthday Suicide Blues (2015)


Kicked out of yet another program last year….this time on my birthday 2015. Hiked 23 miles through New Bedford and wound up shooting coke under a bridge to celebrate….detox the next day. Sigh…madness and mayhem on tap.

Suicide Blues

Information overload leaves a catatonic state,

Insane flashbacks that babbling never slakes.

So, I’ll lift a glass or grab a spoon,

Always a delight to numb out while speeding towards one’s doom.

Sweet and luscious memories deride me in a torrent,

So, I’ll hit it twice and blank it out till I become abhorrent.

Streets, infections, jails, and horrifying youth,

Tweaked out, blacked out, cracked out, hiding from a truth.

It hides behind each one I take, lurking in the corner,

A queasy feeling critter all sewn up dark,

“Truth” is my last remaining mourner.

With bulging eyes and clasping paws it looks comfort to provide,

But I’ll show it how, I’m living now, in ghastly fear and pride.

Battering awareness until thinking is a chore,

Wish it didn’t taste so good or I’d be less a whore.

So feed me everything you’ve got –

The booze, the pills, the lines, the rock.

Pump it in as fast you can until I’m outlined in chalk.

Eventually all will fade away and leave behind my friend,

“Truth” says that all this time it was just fine to reach out for an end.

I could have saved my aching skull from cracking at the ridge –

It’s too late now though, and all I dream of is hanging from a bridge.

Green Hair Angel


Spoken word is coming shortly…if you haven’t seen it, I’d really love to hear some of your own work…take a look at the Studio34 for the listing if you don’t see it a post or two down. Cheers!

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She told me in a voice that wants for something more,

“I’m stuck with you and you with me,

But I don’t want to be stuck,

I just want to be happy.”
Simple words of wisdom,

Drop out the only mouth from which I tend to listed.

All around life is in tatters again,

It’s a battle of just going and going,

Churning up the ground as I try for traction.
People ask if I even know what I want,

It would be easier to drop my head in the sand,

No one wants to be confronted by the fact,

That survival doesn’t constitute a plan.
No goals

Just obligations.

Another sick hollow spot,

Self-indulgent in wasted life,

A never ending emotionless vacation.
The idea of walking a road with no end in sight,

Sounded so peaceful when I was younger.

I can’t be old enough to be this tired,

Those thoughts drag my feet,

Mired in mud six feet deep.
When you’re bound to the pipes,

The needles, the bottles, the pinners, the caps, the strips, the tabs and the doses,

The misery never knowing, always moving,

Chaotic insecurity, discomfort and the fear –

It’s easy to lose yourself in the haze,

No rag can clean vision so glazed.
Occasionally you need a multi-colored head of hair to show you that there is still more to be had.

That whatever tomorrow brings,

It’s worth holding steadfast to belief in something better.

Even if you have to lean on each other to get there.
She told me in a voice that wants for something more,

“I’m stuck with you and you with me,

But I don’t want to be stuck,

I just want to be happy.”

Amp up until your pupils drool…


Long night, long day.

Screeching whistles from the bat winged harpies playing in the sun.

I swear I put a dog collar over the tree stump last week,

Wonder what happened to the dog?

I should probably go out and check,

But now it’s impossible to tell through all their beaks.

Should have embellished the points of each ear,

Small silver trellises of moonlight into nursery rhymed eyes.

C’est la vie,

I’ve got a lockjawed dedication that demands fevered lacerations,

And if they leave a few eggs on the ground for breakfast this evening –

-so much the better.

Madness in the Museum — Charlie Zero The Poet


Shibboleth gossip sucking sobriety – Invidia Cielo E Magick phlegm archives bleed the child withdrawn. Alternate you executed each. That anxiety comes from coyotes. Splinter gash the ever caprice peptic. Wagner strangles his virtual appendix. Genocide glow sarcasm one off demon, a torso floating graffiti, please bore my pain 6. Multiplying eradication, Plow pulls angel […]

via Madness in the Museum — Charlie Zero The Poet

a Muse (Prologue)


unbolt me

Урок 28 - The Muse (by Gloom82) Another masterpiece by Anton Semenov. Do you like? No?! Damn him… go away!!

– Write!

Cold water flows down my face and I open my eyes. Damn him! Again… My nose inhales fusty air and I understand that this nightmare isn’t just a delirium. It’s real… I take up the wet pen. I write ‘fuck you’ carefully in the moist writing-book. Letters are dancing and I close my eyes, but I can’t close my ears.

– She will write. She can. She’s trying to rebel but I can force her.

…give me the strength to speak and to be silent
give me the strength to be a lamb and a tyrant…

Some might suppose that this is my paradise. I would agree if it were not for one zesty detail… What would you name the paradise that you can’t leave? I call it a gaol. Do you…

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