It’s that old saw in bipolar blogging — when you’re doing well, there’s almost nothing to say. If you’re like me, it’s in part ’cause you’re busy enjoying feeling good (or better — it’s all relative). I’m still feeling worn down physically, but that’s easier to tend to and baby than when the brain is acting up.
Having said that, Mister Scumbag Brain is continuing to try and find thing that annoy me with. It inspired me to write a poem this morning on the way to work:
The poison sting
Throbbing and pulsing beneath the skin
It never fades
I won’t go into specifics, but there’s a social aspect of my past that my brain is hellbent on remaining bitter about. I have to fight myself almost daily to not let it get a latch onto me. Because when it does, it makes me physically ill from anxiety and stress and all the negative chemicals and fixating my brain chooses to do about this bit of history. It drives me batty — I have all the desire in the world to put it past me, but it still bothers me. Time will heal this wound, but it’s been years already — get done with the healing, Scumbag Brain!
Still, on the upside… yay poetry? My brain has been spitting out bits and bobs of it in the past couple of weeks, which delights me. I used to be able to pull all sorts of little bits from my brain when I was in school… but that could be said of the entire school, ’cause performing arts school. We all fancied ourselves creative, naturally! There’s some available on a really old webpage of mine if anyone is bored enough to check it out (and be blinded by dear deity late 90s webpage ‘design’).
Anyhoos, life goes on. And me? I’m going to get back to le work grind!