Take me a cloud
Not to reality
But to peace
And serenity

Where there no fight
Fight between good and evil

Just take me a cloud
To no wounds

For years, I lived in a cloud. I made a home there. I carved out space for myself amid shame and silence. I buried my bipolar disorder deep inside myself. I felt it clawing at my ribcage, but I pressed it down further.

“STAY IN THERE.”

And then one day, I couldn’t live like that anymore. I wandered out of the cloud.

Last year, I made a commitment to leave the cloud for good, to be open about my bipolar disorder, to talk about it without shame. I vowed to advocate for others and educate those who have not experienced or been exposed to mental illness.

I felt a weight lift. I felt the sun and the dew. I was naked and liberated and empowered. Nothing to hide. I wrote with ferocity and passion. I published pieces describing my experience. I was proud. I was also stable.

The rapid cycling began a few months later. And all the courage I had in stability, all the transparency I took pride in evaporated. The cloud descended.

The shame settled onto my shoulders, wrapped itself around my body, constricting me, wringing me of my confidence, my self-worth.

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“The Heat”

A.C. will blow out the heat of my fat head for me.
Seeing what being is becoming.

I blow firewater through my rear’s end.
The only thing I want to smoke is the cloud air.

There’s no such thing as cloud air.
It was a term made up in Hollywood by writers.

Or the term, brain fog.
One flew over the cuckoos nest is a stigmatic.

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“Follow me,” said the dark cloud next to my bed. I was six. the devil wanted me to go destroy my mom’s possessions in the kitchen. And I did. I recall that being the first command from “the voices”

Since then they command me to do things every day and or ask my permission for them to do bad things to my loved ones. I use god’s power and the devil’s power to get what I want scared cameras are in my room.

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a hungry child. lost in the woods.

grasping at the sticks in a rainstorm to build a shelter. but the rain always gets in.

the illusion was shattered and the trees appear as they really are. ugly.

the family are just empty bodies. ghosts trapped in skin.

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I want to say something short and sweet.  I started suffering from BiPolar Disorder in my late teens and did not receive a diagnosis until my mid-40s.  We all know the drill, suicide attempts, the black cloud, the full of energy mania. 

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I have been on some type of psychotropic medication for years, it was Lexapro and at first it worked very well for my depression, until I thought adding some drinking with it would make it work better.

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In a nutshell. Not exactly sure what happened. Born from a normal family no major family issues but around the age of eight everything went dark. It was like a cloud looming over me. Depression and anxiety begin to consume me. It was like I was punished underwater only hoping to service for a breath of air before submerging again. I was in survival mode most of my life. At the age of 23 and begin to have some breakthroughs and didn’t suffer as long as the stents before. I get married at the age of 32 and was challenging bringing someone else into my world. And now I’m here.

Dear Doubt and Regret,
Now that you have finally met, please leave me out of it. You are strong apart but will be lethal together. I have tried to keep you in the dark for as long as I can remember, but there was a karmic connection between you both that I assume was made lifetimes ago. Doubt, you cloud my judgment with your manipulative ways. Regret, you are a past full of begrudgement. You are a guest that overstays. I doubt you will receive this warmly, but this is not just for you. This is for me. Fast friends from day one, and it is easy to see why. Now I guess our run is done and this is my goodbye.

Regretfully,
Hope