By Jennifer Kiley

Well, it appears I have come up against the demons. Listening to The Rolling Stones “Sympathy For the Devil”. I have crashed into the wall. Near the ledge. It was a trigger that threatened my sense of my self. Going to that place to find validation when it was just a game to stroke my ego. Instead it crushed my spirit instead. Welcome to the other side of bipolar, the down side. Only last night and even this morning I felt up and rather hypomanic. Paid a visit to my therapist. She was pretty exhausted but reassurd me that she was listening. Ran into someone in the waiting room I hadn’t seen in ages who was in a therapy group with me years before now. I had my ear buds in listening to soothing music to prepare me for my session. I also wear sunglasses so I won’t be disturbed. I hate the waiting room or any waiting room. There is usually too many people and too much noise. Today when I walked in there were two people. It was quiet until this person across the room yelled out my name. I didn’t recognize her. Speaking to anyone in the waiting room really bothers me but I made an exception b/c it was good to see her once I realized who it was. We talked a short bit then someone else came into the waiting room and went right up to her and stood in front of her and totally cut off our conversation and began speaking to her about something way off anything we were into. Well, that ended rudely and abruptly. So, I put my other ear bud back in and turned up my music while I waited for my therapist to come out to get me. She was running late, which is quite unusual. We normally start before the hour. She knows I hate sitting in the waiting room. I was so hyper during our session and she was so tired. There was so much to tell her and I wanted her to talk to me but she didn’t have the energy. She told me she could listen better with her eyes closed. That may be true but I kept feeling that she was falling asleep on me. I don’t really know what we accomplished. It all felt hyper and superficial even though I spoke about my friend who died last year so suddenly and that I told my partner that I’ve felt invsible most of my life except for when I was being abused. But I think even then, when I think about it, I was invisible then too, because the abusers were going to do whatever they wanted to me without respect for how they made me feel. SO, I would say that makes one invisible too.

Amy Winehouse went out all alone too much alcohol and it killed her

I hate this side of the bipolar. When I feel like this nothing really matters no matter how much I try to make things mean something, they just don’t. What was the trigger? Not feeling good enough. With Bipolar you either feel on top of the world and you can do anything and then there is no meaning in anything. And suicide looks really good but I have made too many contracts not to do anything.

Queen – Who Wants To Live Forever

You also start to do things that start getting weird, like watching an hour long video on Deaths in Hollywood about all the famous suicides and murders and tragic deaths of famous people. All afternoon I started watching strange videos on YouTube. One was on Jackson Pollock. He drank himself to a suicidal death. He’s one of my favorite artists. I wanted to watch a video on James Dean but it wouldn’t play. There is a theme, I get morbid when I start falling into a depression. I miss all the people I love who are dead and gone, famous or those who were friends or lovers that died suddenly or disappeared from my life too quickly. I miss my friend who I use to text and talk to about missing someone else I lost suddenly. Isn’t it odd that the person helping me to cope with losing somebody I love and miss so intensely should die themselves shortly there after and when they were only in their 30s. I was going to text her in the middle of the night but I didn’t want to wake her up. Next morning I find out she died sometime in that night.

Amy Winehouse – Back To Black

Life and death are so cruel. Wouldn’t you like to have the proof that there is life after death? I mean a spiritual place like in the film “On Borrowed Time” where at the end of the movie the grandfather and his grandson go to this special place and reunite with the kids grandmother. That’s my ending. When I die I will meet up with my grandparents that I loved so much when they were alive. After they died they would visit me all the time, especially my grandmother. She would visit me almost every night. When I saw the movie “The Sixth Sense”, I use to joke and say “I dream about Dead People.” It is true. I also get haunted by dead people like my parents. I never wanted to see them while they were alive, so obviously I wouldn’t want to have them come to me in my sleep all the time like they are doing now way too often. This is one crazy post but cathartic just the same. I am feeling just a touch lighter. I think some of the depression is coming out of my fear of being creative. Working on my screenplay is before me. When I am doing it, I feel so incredibly good but the panic and fear interfer. When I am not able to write on it I feel like I am failing my self. It is so easy to forget to remember that being creative needs breathing room to grow itself. My muse has been giving me a great deal of help. Sometimes I need to step back and take a short break so that I can come in with a fresh mind and a clearer perspective. I know what I want to do. It is fear that keeps me from doing it. It means getting in touch of my emotions about my characters and my story, There is a particular character that frightens me the most b/c I care about that character the most. They mean so much to me. I want to present them the way they want to be seen. I want them to be real and not just a caricature. Real in the fictional sense of real. Have dimensions. Speak from their perspective. I am sorry about wandering about in my mind but I am trying to release the demons that are holding me down. It feels just like an exorcism. I am afraid that for tonight I need to come to an end. I need to play with my cats who are probably waiting for me on my bed. They want me to take out their whip toy and tease them with it so that they can attack it. Also, they need to take turns. Do I still feel depressed. Unfortunately, the answer is yes. I need to put in my ear buds and turn on my mp3 to start the music pumping into my veins. I use shuffle and repeat most times so the variety that comes through into my ears and enters my souls is quite eclectic. Sometimes it’s just the right serendipitous order and sometimes I need to skip one or two of the random choices. I will read this before I publish it. There is still much work to do to finish it. A last word for tonight is I read Bobby Brown was talking about Whitney Houston’s cause of death. Her death is just to disturbing and painful for me. I read the police report and the autopsy. That was such a bad idea. It made me sick. I cried myself to sleep for weeks after her death and whenever I listened to her music I would cry. Maybe that is what I need to do. I need to listen to Whitney’s voice. Her Voice is very soothing and emotional for me. It might be just what I need to help me release all this pressure inside of me. Let’s be off to bed. My kitties await me.

Whitney feeling a moment of happiness