Will They Miss Me When I Am Gone?

What about me is memorable?

Besides my crying eyes.

Is it the lies

or my highs?

Genuinely I ponder

Not in the same frame of mind

as when I am suicidal

I find

We all would like to leave a legacy

and mine, I’ll define

A lost soul once found

face down on the ground

with nothing to hold onto

pulling herself upright

she had given up that night

the battle in her mind

she could no longer fight

Is that the me they will see,

if they miss me

For I have rewritten my story

this time they are my words

not the ones I was told

Proud of living a life

carefree and bold

Aren’t they aware there

are two of me?

Which will I be when I am set free?

Isolating, striving to be

the better version of me

Some days still lost

I search frantically within

for it is inside

on days they cannot see

the me I’ve grown to be

I wonder if they will miss me

I am capable of writing full sentences but when I am doubtful of my words, I present them in this style because my thoughts are fragmented.  Often times I want to write about my life and my achievements but for some reason, I have a tendency to write reflectively.  It enables me to see where I have grown yet holding me hostage in a familiar place.  A place that is deep within, fearing the light.  Keeping it dark and hidden protects that part of me yet acknowledges its existence.  The moment I pretend it isn’t there, it will wreak havoc on my life.  I am in a place somewhere between mania and stability maintaining as best I can.  I fear the come down as I’ve been up for a while.  And I love this part of me.


Manic she creates

Challenging its fate

Teasing it

She flexes

Check’n it

She mocks it

While multitasking

It’s only from up here she sees the depths she has visited

A rebel

Toying with nature

Testing its power

She’ll put up a fight

Giving her thoughts freedom to roam

They disperse magic

in her dome

Cultivating a strategy

One that depression

promises to steal

But this time is different

She’s learned its game

And prepared for this part

She will stand her ground

Herself she has found

The piece she lost

Or perhaps never had

Yet she has wanted it

so bad

Striving for balance

and healing her wounds

She moves on

to a more positive space

Trusting her instincts she shall achieve

Obtaining strength and reprieve


1, 2, 3, 4

She can’t take much more.

Finding herself on the floor.

She fights with life.

Angry and mistreated,


Liquor brings reprieve.

Herself she deceive.

Addicted without boundaries

she’s left gasping.

Loss of control

the poison takes its toll.


Pleading with herself

to get straight.

Not much longer can she wait.

Brittle and bruised,

a childhood emotionally abused.

Flashbacks and nightmares consume her nights.

Rarely she turn of the lights.

Drowning her pain

and nothing to gain.

A must to maintain.


A morbid solution for it to end.

With only her thoughts

by her side,

she can no longer hide.

As she set aside her pride,

reality and her collide.

She is no more a contender

in this battle she fight.

Surrendering her flag of white.


Switching off the light.

If you find you are struggling with drugs and/or alcohol please surrender. It will not be easy but you are worth it. Don’t waste your energy fighting a losing battle, use it living life.

3 am

Sometimes I don’t know what it’s like to be me. Imposter syndrome or disassociation?

Imposter syndrome or disassociation?

“Who Am I?”


I question.

Ignited by madness.

Fueled through love.

Is there someone up above?

Give me something concrete.

To know where I stand.


Deep inside there is more to me.

Maybe three.

Complex chemicals,

chain me.

A genuine soul

with no self-control.

A heart of gold.

Pure intentions,

polluted by darkness.

Kissed by evil.

A core weary and pure.


Poisoned with lies.

Dilated eyes.

Sarcastic and calculated,


Moderate motions,


Stability I lack.

Is Anybody Out There?

2 am

Haven’t eaten today

Well, yesterday

Sleep escapes me

My energy levels are elevated

But not enough to move

As I lay here,

scrolling, I wonder

Is anybody out there?

Do they read my ploys?

Does my strength shine through?

Am I descriptive enough?

I feel so alone

At night and in the day

Are our efforts worthy?

Will we make change happen?

Or do we write selfishly?

These pangs of hunger

satisfy a sick feeling

Soul starvation

Flooded with temptation

I lay here


Thoughts race through my head

A mile a minute

Am I cycling?

Did I take my meds?

Starved for attention?


Seeing my psychiatrists today

Reminded me I’m not ok

I mean I am

but maybe I’m not

I can never determine

The sun will soon rise

Tomorrow is but a surprise

Will I make it through?

I must remember my meds

Forgetting messes with my head

Do I dare test my luck

Let my head run amuck


What next?

Should I read?

Maybe that’ll put me to sleep

Does any of this make sense?

Is anybody out there?

I will do this often, write out the immediate thoughts, to catch what it is I am thinking. As you can see it jumps rapidly. I often wonder if our efforts are being heard. Our desire to stop the stigma. Are we wasting our time? Surely we are at least causing a ripple in this massive space. Right? Exposing my vulnerability has to stand for something.

I cannot apologize for my ramblings. That would be like apologizing for being myself. But I can’t help but wonder ….

My Personal Account

Being bipolar can be maddening. The ever so daunting thoughts. The indecision. The opposing poles. Constant doubt. Add the fear of judgment (anxiety) and obsessive patterns (OCD) to the mix and you’ve got a cocktail for an adventure. More or less, you get me in all my glory.

For the majority of my life, I thought everyone’s brain operated like mine. The battle, ya know? Actually, most of you won’t know because you aren’t directly affected by mental illness or addiction. Yes, I have co-occurring disorders. Any time I am hospitalized, I am in a specific section separate from the majority of patients. My thought processes are quite different from others. My alcoholism convinces my mind that it is ok to injest toxins at a lethal level. It goes further than convincing as I crave. With three years sobriety, these cravings have subsided but that doesn’t mean the occasional urge doesn’t slip its way through.

My mind plays tricks on me. At times I am certain I am not bipolar and that I do not need medication. Other times I know that I am and I accept it. The friction that is caused by the addictive part of my brain and the chemical off balance of bipolar, creates havoc somedays. There are bad days and then worse days. The worst days usually follow many bad days in a row. The worst days leave me bedridden. The time since my last episode of worst days is significant in my recovery. I haven’t been hospitalized since 2013, a whopping five years. For two of those years, I was still in active addiction causing days of darkness. Those days haven’t happened since I surrendered. I have had rough and depressed days but no bedridden ones. (Knock on wood)

I can only imagine what it is like to have a fully functional brain or one that doesn’t play tricks on me. The reality is that I never will and am forever in debt to an imbalance that does as it pleases. I keep waiting for the day that I crash, again. It is inevitable. I am hopeful that the medication will continue working, keeping me stable and functional. It has only been a year since I agreed to take medication for bipolar disorder and a year and a half since my diagnosis.

The ironic part is that when I am sick, I do not realize it. When you have lived more of your life unmedicated than medicated, you learn ways of coping. Not all are the healthiest but coping nonetheless. The weight gain, days in bed and crazy mood swings try desperately to signal me of something wrong. I don’t listen. I eat. I sleep. I cry. I laugh. I get mad. I sleep.

Living with many mental illnesses can be disabling. It is an invisible attack that no one sees coming. Nor do they feel its damage. It is unexplainable and frustrating. It is difficult. While my diagnoses do not define me, they do affect me. Altering my thought process to extremes at times, resulting in bizarre behavior. Uncontrollable behavior.

At almost 40 years old I choose to remain positive and aware when dealing with my mental illnesses. I approach each day with a new outlook. Although I am not curable, I am hopeful. If you or someone you love are struggling to accept depression, bipolarity, or any other mental illness, keep in mind that there will be better days. The two best solutions I have to offer are educate yourself and seek professional assistance. Discussing your symptoms makes it easier to cope. You are not alone.

Better Days

There is a battle

Between her ears

Waging war, for years

An infinite imbalance

No yin to her yang

She struggles to sustain

Representing the minority

Herself she make priority

Her journey has taken her to the devils lair

No darkness can compare

Her heights soar among the eagles

A happiness that should be illegal

No middle ground from which to stand

Barely surviving soiled land

Crisis, a friend

Clutching onto crisp air

As the depths swollow her whole

Stealing her light and soul

Life defined by tragic events

A path belonging to her

A distorted history

An uncertain future

Promises of better days

Longing she stay

Change is paving her way

The Next Leap

Being a part of a mental health movement makes me proud. If you know any of my stories you know I am not full of pride. What mental health movement? The one you experience reading The Bipolar Writer. We are a part of something bigger. We are here to stay and we are going to teach along the way.

But …

There is also a bigger problem.
How can we teach and not preach?

How can we educate when not everyone wants to be taught?

How can we communicate?

We write most of our symptoms, what can sound like complaining when in reality we are expressing ourselves. We say what it is we do not want to hear but what about what we do want to hear? What are the “normals” allowed to say to us that we are ok hearing? You hear me?

Think about it

What is it that we want to be told?

Communication is s two-way street. It is easy to spout off what we don’t want but that’s when it sounds aggressive and talking about our diagnosis can be misconstrued as whining. There has to be an approach where we meet in the middle. This discussion must be had for a stop to the stigma. So I ask you,

What is it you want to hear when you are experiencing an “episode” or if you are feeling depressed, manic or paranoid? Let’s communicate what is ok to say and encourage the conversation to merge confusion and understanding. I believe it would be a great leap towards eliminating the stigma. It would most definitely be a beneficial conversation.

I’ve posed this question on my personal site and the response was good but I believe this should be asked of a larger audience. It is an important question. If you are a normal reading this, what questions could we answer for you to understand? By no means am I trying to separate us because we are one in the same but the reality is we are separated.

Lets #speakup! and #stopthesilence. Here is your opportunity to be heard once and for all.

Be kind.

Be considerate.

Be proactive.

A Soul

On late nights

Galaxy outta sight

Bring me to life

Starry, full moon night

In the dark I find light

A soul take flight

On late nights

Mornings anew

Fresh point of view

Sluggish and slew

Dawn a sight for few

Smells of dew

Sunshine blinding

And bright

A close second to night

Soul of warmth

Warrants compassion

Midday passion

A soothed soul

Life paying its toll



Did I mention?

Dreams come to fruition

On late nights

A spiritual affair

Hovering in the air

Some dare

Full moon’s flare

Nothing can compare


We stare

A soul


One full moon’s night

Candace, author, believes in the magic of a full moons energy. The moon is the only thing that unites us across time and oceans. On a full moons night the energy field is powerful and magnificent. I challenge you to use this night to communicate with yourself. Choose positive words, under the moon. Speak your truths and give your challenges over to the light of the night. While you are gazing at it, know that I am too.!!

A Challenge

Her words, her weapon

Thrown like daggers

A ruthless flame thrower

Juggling with deceipt

Night walker

Shit talker

Roping you in

Full of sin

Battling her mind she’ll not win

Without potion a spell is cast

Don’t bring up her past

Unstable yet capable,

proving you wrong

Bulletproof and strong

Strength pumps through her veins


A survivor, born naturally

Fighting the fight

A warrior ready for battle

Using words, you’ll rattle

Self-inflicted pain

Reduced at her core

Level the score

Once more