What I Write…
This might be relatively self-explanatory but I will explain it none the less. Everything categorized as “Love” has a tag to the inspiration (first initial or other name). I like to keep everyone sorted, they know who they are if they bothered to read this crap. “Life” is basically about myself in various perspectives and “Other Trivial Pursuits” may be about other relationships and/or experiences.
I started this hobby when (as the doctors expect) I was in full-blown mania. I fell into psychosis as my drug use progressed and I had to be shipped back to the USA where I was in that state for another 2 months. These are my writing I recovered as well as reflections of my trip to India and my trip of insanity…
Why I Write…
I was halfway around the world in southern India where I ran into drugs and other love. I was immediately inspired by everything and enamored with everyone. I picked up writing meek songs and feeble poems to express myself both inwardly and outwardly to all that graced my presence; an attest to my grandiose nature that had me believing I was “enlightened” and “all was one” and I was the one. I was prophetic, high on my horse and getting even higher on the bathroom countertops where powder was lined and meditated upon… India was inspiring, yes, but it was probably due to a combination of an underlying disorder, ecstasy, acid and cocaine that led to such a facetious “trip.”
Regardless, they called it psychosis.
I’m not a psychologists or a class-A hippy but I can tell you that whatever went through my head in those months was surreal. I mean this in the most counterintuitive way but no imagination could understand— even if you were in it, you wouldn’t know until you were out. And I’m am just so grateful I got out (sometimes…).
My insanity had me hanging on barred windows naked in India and abusing my doctor “because he was a man.” I was completely wrapped by my new warped reality that had all stemmed from some fragmented knowledge about Asian religions; Women= Shakti= Power. ? . It might have started there but ideas would spring new theories with every new sense and my mind was so convincing! I went from believing I was a goddess, to a vampire to a sacrifice, to a reincarnation of the last Mayan princess that would save mankind in a matter of days. I fully believed myself…
I also believed everyone outside myself knew these “secretes of the world.” Any doubt only led me to creating another conspiracy about them. My friends were scared for my life and I gave them a reason to be scare for their own; pulling knives on my lovers and singing of death to mangy dog are a couple of my most regrettable moments… They were so out-of-character. Everyone was unsure of what had become of me.
“Why are you acting like this?” I remember one of them saying as they shook me against the wall. I can see myself laughing in their face— completely mad. They alerted my parents, urging them to travel to India as soon as possible and take me back to Chicago. Unfortunately, their saving grace only ended my physical trip, not my mental one.
I don’t remember landing in the USA and it took 2 more months for me land back into reality. I was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder 1 and my days consisted of group therapy, poetry, loud sights and persuasive beats. I would trace lines between everything I read, heard and/or thought I read/heard; spinning the most beautifully tragic sweater of delusions that I still put on from time to time…
Luckily (debatably), stars aligned and I met someone who tolerated my twists and, more importantly, listened to my nonsense with stoic silence. I began to hear myself think again… I suddenly became conscious of all my manic thoughts… I hadn’t realized I had lost this power– this power of awareness, this idea of “self” with regard to all “others.” I became scared, depressed and incredibly embarrassed by everything I had said and done. Every ambition disappeared in the fog of those lost months. I couldn’t piece it all together so I lost faith in everything (and I mean everything).
Everyone wanted to see me stable but I would have been happy to die. I continued to waste away; avoiding my meds, drinking, drowning and eventually falling into a drug-induced comatose. You could say I was suicidal… Well, the psych ward might tell you that and how they’d sent me to rehab where I finally came to terms with my dependance on drug use– and it’s true, they have effect my life in SO many ways (honestly, good and bad).
My poetry has now developed into a regular outlet for me and this blog allows me to keep all of my mediocre work together, in some sort of order. I also have another blog, Hippy Healing, that is focused on information, inspiration and a bit more of my personal story with the struggle of addiction and co-occuring disorders with a holistic perspective. All of the content there is post-insanity but there are journals of my journey with much more detailed recollections.
Thank you to everyone who has pushed me to write
more about my trip and all it’s beautiful disasters!
Check out the tab, Cohering My Trip,
for the endlessly updated works
mapping the journey