Mary Oliver — Still, what I want in my life is to be willing to be dazzled–To cast aside the weight of facts–And maybe even to float a little above this difficult world.
Artful, Conscious Living with Bipolar Disorder
10 Jun 2020 Leave a comment
in Art, Covid19, hand-made cards, Mental Health, support Tags: Firefly, Nathan Fillion, Serenity
Mary Oliver — Still, what I want in my life is to be willing to be dazzled–To cast aside the weight of facts–And maybe even to float a little above this difficult world.
06 Feb 2019 6 Comments
in Art, bipolar disorder, blogging, Mental Health, Mental Illness, mixed-media art Tags: anniversary, Firefly, Nathan Fillion
… and to you.
Thank you for flying the ‘Verse with me for some fraction of those eight years.
Thank you for your kind words and support.
We are still on an Adventure.
07 Mar 2017 26 Comments
in Art, Bipolar Bad-Ass Training, bipolar disorder, Mental Health, Mental Illness, mixed-state, TV and Movies, video Tags: anger, Charlize Theron, Firefly
I woke up this morning feeling like—as my friend, Lily, so delicately puts it—dog shit on the bottom of God’s shoe. Also, furious. But I pulled on my swimsuit, intending to take it out in the water. Except I was 90 minutes early.
Fury boiled.
I raced to the nearest salon. “Can someone cut my hair right now?”
“Yes!” the hapless pixie piped. “And today all haircuts are $10!”
“Great. Shave it all off. I can’t stand it another second. I’m tired of trying to look like something.”
She did.
And I left feeling like my outside finally matched my inside. Furious. And the closest I’ll ever come to looking like Charlize Theron.
Furious helps. Furious brings the Bad-Ass, which is now in full display.
I roared off to misbehave and brought home two bags full of art supplies. Now we’ll see what fury can really do.
ψ
26 Apr 2013 18 Comments
in Bipolar Bad-Ass Training, bipolar disorder, Mental Health, mixed-state, rapid cycling, TV and Movies Tags: Firefly, hospital, Malcolm Reynolds, mental health professionals, self-care
I’ve been waiting a week now for help, waiting for my therapist to return my calls, waiting for the hospital’s day program to accept me, waiting for the mental health professionals to save me. I’m beginning to think like my Firefly friend, Malcolm Reynolds. He tells Shepherd Book, “I ain’t lookin’ for help from on high. That’s a long wait for a train don’t come.”
Even if Mercy calls today, I wouldn’t start partial hospitalization until Monday. That’s three more days I have to get through. The prospect of spending three more days holed up in my jammies is unacceptable. If I have to work my way out of this by myself, then I’d better get started.
There’s still a Bad Ass inside me, still a part of me that fights to live. I can’t just forget all the training I’ve gone through, all the work and effort I’ve made to come to terms with this bipolar business. I’m tired just now from the fight, and resentful of how hard I have to work every day. Every gorram day. But waiting for help that may never come isn’t the answer. It’s up to me. It always has been.
So, impossible as it seems, I’ll get dressed. I’ll go to my water aerobics class and reassure my friends there. I’ll take myself to breakfast and journal my way through this strange situation. I’ll take back the DVDs I’ve watched and get a few groceries. I’ll take care of myself.
I never much cared for trains anyway.