First blog post

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Invisible as always

I’m standing in front of you. You don’t see me? I’m standing in front of YOU too. Can’t you see me? Am I really here? Do I need to be seen by you to be someone? Can I be someone to myself without you? Why do I need you to feel alive ? I am alive. I am. I DON’T NEED YOU ANYMORE. I’ve never felt so alive until I realized this. I am. I’m alive.

Why am I here? 

I’m tired. I just want to sleep for the rest of my life. That gallon of vodka and the sixth floor balcony is looking better than ever. Who will care for my dog? Who will care for my bird? Who gives two shits about me? My friends are dead. I’m alone with just my dog and my bird and much as I love them I’ve lived long enough. I look forward to death and only death. 

Mondays in Spring. 

Mondays in Spring. When an elderly person loses their sense of smell. What Chorea makes a person with Huntinton’s disease consider. When you’ve lost all hope. When all you think of as soon as you wake up is when the night comes so you can sleep. 

I’m here. Can’t you see me?

When I’m in a group of people it bothers me that those in the group talk to each other, eye contact and all, but I’m never looked at in the eye. What? Am I invisible? You don’t even make me feel like you can see me. I’m not invited to join the conversation. So why am I here?

A day out

Spent today at my sister’s house. We had a barbecue. She has a husband and a house. A backyard with a forest beyond. She has trees. Rabbits in the yard and deer visit her backyard. A bird’s nest under her deck. A lovely neighborhood. I’m jealous, yet she worked hard all her life and earned what she has. She doesn’t have long to live and when she’s gone my family is gone. I’ll never know what’s become of my other sister’s children. Where they’re at, if they marry or have children. I burned my bridges behind me.



Is it wrong to think of death as something to look forward to? Death is nothingness. I feel I’ve lived my life and there’s no life left in me. What more is left to persuade me to continue on this path? I’m already dead but my body won’t cooperate. These are the thoughts of a woman with bipolar disorder.

When I was young

When I was young I was alone. I wanted the gift of bilocation. One to wrap it’s arm around me as I cried.

Where are you when I need you

There’s no one here. I’m alone now and I don’t know what to do with myself. I’m looking for some semblance of a life. Where do I go to find one? Can I find one in a box of Cracker Jacks?