Blessed Are They Who Mourn

4 Blessed are they who mourn, for they will be comforted.

What sorrowful and bereaved are those cries when a loved one had departed, particularly forever.

How more woebegone could be a bipolar, experiencing the same, but often, and without a clear cause. Don’t know what is more pitiful, if the implacable repetition, or the lifeless emptiness of reason.

For years I spent many breakfasts with my kids looking through the window, staring. At a depth where the light barely made it, where even the smallest sound fills the air, and its pressure seems it will blow my head in any time. But none of this had a meaning, nor the sounds, the silence, neither the sadness I, mistakenly though it had, wish I had The guilt was set free, flew around wondering for someone to wear her, and she always found someone, always did.

What mourn can be more desperate than those we weep in deep depression?

Haven’t we cried enough?

 

Blessed the Poor of Spirit

3 Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Bipolars (we) spent our life most of the time lost and misplaced: the wrong attitude in the wrong place at the worst moment. Or so we were until we found that our ‘psiche’ was lacking of some important piece: we were not as we see the rest -or at least- what we see with our interior vision  does not match with what we see in the exterior of others-.

When I though I was normal, whenever I was sad, I look around for the cause: what was going wring with me, my life, my things. When I was normal, whenever I rage was because I was right, and I was victim of an aggression. One day I learned that emotions were not real, they did not match with what was going on. I no longer trust my emotions. I was unable to asses with them the surrounding world.

When I feel I am right, I doubt it, when I fell I love I doubt it. I’m not sure if I am happy or not. My soul is nude, living as it is, with no options.

What a huge step to recognize that our ‘spirit’ was not enough, with it we will never accomplished nothing. We cannot even trust our own emotions.
Our spirit is not enough to buy us life. We are poor in spirit

 

Beatitudes

Bipolars are very particular people.
I am very particular, and these are my digressions about the beatitudes, that you may find in Mathew 5.
Is not clear from Jesus discourse what we supposed to do with them: we need to fullfil them all, pick one or a bunch. What is clear is that each of them contains what to see either or a promise or a consequence of being or trying to be.

 

Down the stream

Down the stream
the shiny waters clicks and trip
I can see sun, grass, dirty and a road
down along the flowing water
runs a road, a trail maybe
I followed them both
I saw ants, rocks and grass,
smelled mud, and a rotten dead mouse,
clouds pinched my imagination
wanting me to derail,
or wanting to protect me

The trail disappears in the sand
the stream engulfs the the sea, he thinks

I can see the sea
there is nothing more

 

Broken Plans

Along our life  -specially on our early conscious years- we  built  “detailed plans for happiness”.

However, many times we find ourselves disappointed, upset and  sad  of not had fulfill  them.

What  we created for good  has turned back and is biting us. Isn’t  better to get rid of them? But seems they gained live on their own, and they fierce cling on us, not wanting to leave.

That’s not true, because they are not alive. Behind their apparent strong resistance there is only our pride, denying the mere possibility of had made a big mistake in such important matter: how to achieve happiness. Our ego won’t let go so easy, and will prefer to throw shame and the sense of failure over us before admit the possibility of a change: only through this self inflicted pain our ego believes will remain.

How may of those failed plans, unfulfilled self-prophesies and other heavy burdens we still carry? Today is a good day to let go, at least one: face it in the eye and say

I free my self of XXX, it was just a plan, and I was wrong conditioning my happiness on my plan.

 

Whatever!

I came to the conclusion that, for good of for bad, being blessed or cursed, bipolars are condemned to live every aspect of their lives  with intensity:

• I cannot be just sad, I  fall into depression.
• I cannot be just concerned, I  become obsessive.
• I cannot be just happy, I  become euphoric.
• I cannot be just religious, I must be fanatic

But somehow, there are days that  I appreciate to be like this.

 

Honesty v/s Consequences

I’m sick of this life,

when I know I should not.

In the hidden life, honesty is sovereign.

I’m sick of this life.

 

Thick Shinny Ice

Today is like a day spent over the ice.
Whatever I try to do it gives me an inertia and I cannot longer stop.
I can switch directions, but that’s about it.

And now my legs start shaking, not again!
Anxiety is topping off.
My hands became heavy, as usual I’m lost, seems I will fall to sleep.

My current push my nerves as usual, I should journal about it.