bipolypsy

[bipolypsy]

I have dressed in pink

A bubble gun shade

Beneath it, red

Desires innate

My face projecting a self to the world.

I grant me worthy of care

Of brushing and washing and taking a shower

Of sleeping eight hours while strapped to a blower

That keeps me alive and my brain from exploding

(At least that's what one hopes) though there's no way of knowing

For sure, so I trust in the constant inconstancy,

Moments, connections, and losses of self in the infinite kisses and salty deliciousness.

The friends and the babies who take their first steps into futures that terrify those of us left.

The silly, vain hope of today with no further, of the now that encumbers, unleashes us all.

[bipolypsy]

Sometimes, the skin over the hole in my skull gets itchy. I remind myself it doesn't have to mean anything more than that I could shower.

I miss my mother. My grandmother. My sister.

[bipolypsy]

Discomfort is excitement by another name.

Once we are attuned to arousal, we can change the valence.

[bipolypsy]

In 2021, I learned my silly and loving dad is not biologically my father. I learned that my aorta has been slowly growing and could burst at any time if it continues. I learned I likely have a genetic disorder that has an average life expectancy of 48. I moved further away from family and live alone for the first time in over a decade.

I feel less close emotionally to my family because of my mom's decision to keep a secret from my dad.

I don't know how to acknowledge these things emotionally.

So, I smoke, snack, and cry to TV shows instead.

[bipolypsy]

Omnisexual.

Polyamorous.

Compersion comes easily.

Novelty reigns.

Sagittarius Sun, Aries Moon, Leo Rising

Fire, heat, mutability, consumption, noise.

Tend the flames consciously, now.

Seek to simmer.

Slow stoking, wry wordplay.

No longer indiscriminate blaze

Last through the winter

[bipolypsy]

I like my colleague.

Like like them.

They make me laugh. It feels warm and affirming when I return the favor.

They're smart. Intellectually and emotionally.

They're sexy with soft skin. At least, it looks soft.

We talked on the phone before bed. I felt giddy when we hung up. Like when I had a landline.

I tell myself I shouldn't like them because we work together. That it's unprofessional.

It doesn't work.

[bipolypsy]

Hello self,

It's ok to make mistakes. To say things that are embarrassing. To second guess yourself.

It's ok not to be attracted to someone you find interesting. You have nothing to prove.

It's ok

[bipolypsy]

I made plans and then flaunted them completely. I let my love down. He forgave me and I can let it go. Bad brain has no chill, though, and wants to hold onto this feeling. Self-flagellation helps nothing.

[bipolypsy]

Growth takes time. Longer than I'd like sometimes. Discomfort, then, is essential. It's easy to stay in the familiar patterns from before. Comforting and recognizable.

To the woman in the mirror:

Be kind to yourself. You are going to make mistakes. Learn from them and put down your shame. Move through them.

Shame turns you into a rock. Breathe and flow like water.

Whether and what other people think about you (they don't) is a topic neither important nor helpful. Breathe.

You can be your own best friend, can give yourself the glow of love, of knowing you are loved.

Turn the care you lavish on others towards yourself. Give yourself as much forgiveness and grace as you share with the rest of the beautiful people you love.

Because you are beautiful, kind, open-hearted, and strong enough to be vulnerable.

Deep as maple roots, steady as soil. Breathe.

[bipolypsy]

I forget sometimes how obvious and shallow men can be. I got a free drink, a door held open for me, and a handful of leers at a bar tonight all because of my tits. I'm wearing black pants and a tied button down.

It's a bit jarring to feel objectified, flattered, powerful, and resigned. So much old programming comes up and I like the attention.

Exhibitionism feels sexy to me.

Yes, look at my body. It is strong and soft and ripples like water. Sweet and salty together. Round and full, loaves of risen sourdough.

It owes you nothing.

[bipolypsy]

You ever been fucked so good you literally passed out?

I have.

Of course, it could have been the cocktails and wine and blunt, as well. I'm sure they contributed.

It made for a memorable second date.

[bipolypsy]

My Tinder date called me Queen Squirts-a-Lot. I think that is appropriate based on the amount of bedding, carpet, cars, and furniture I have soiled in my life. He said, with chagrin, that he'd have to do laundry after I left. I smiled wryly.

"Always have a second set of sheets."

[bipolypsy]

I have a beautiful family. I can laugh with my mom and sister harder than with anyone. We played Liverpool Rummy tonight while drinking wine and pretending we don't have plans to take three kids to the zoo and amusement park tomorrow morning.

I love them dearly.

[bipolypsy]

So, boundaries are the thing on my mind. I spent a long weekend away. I felt calm for the first time in a while. Learning what I need and want is a fragile thing, new to me. I can feel myself getting more rigid when I think about communicating what I want, or think I could want. When I can channel Maude, I feel my shoulders relax, my jaw go more slack.

When you speak, I feel the tension of avoidance, of fear, creep back in. How do I move past my reluctance? It would probably be easier if I knew what to say, I suppose.

So. Let's try that.

I need clean and clear space around me to feel calm and in control.

I want to get rid of many, many things. Simplify, simplify, simplify.

I want to come home to my cats. And that's it.

(Really? Are you sure you're not just saying that because blah blah avoidance blah blah?)

The emotional valence of these desires shows me I need to pay attention to them.

I really can just imagine another life and then go do it.

And if I don't like it, I can try again.

[bipolypsy]

The contrast of conversing with you becomes apparent when he returns. I feel resignation, maybe? Every partner does not need to fulfill each need; I'm more comfortable being one of many and expect my lovers to feel similarly.

[bipolypsy]

I'm seated in my living room, cat on my lap, looking at a beautifully lit Christmas tree atop bedecked boxes. The multi-coloured lights to my left outline our record collection. Instrumental piano music spins a song I've always known. 

I have bodily memories of this holiday.

Next door to my family home, my grandparents hosted an open house. Nearly 150 people from church groups and bowling leagues, generational family friends and the person my grandmother just met, would stop by. A 13 foot dining table girded levels of food. Appetizers, mostly, with at least half of the spread sweets. My grandmother would begin decorating every room of their three story house as soon as Halloween had passed. That was the only way to get it all up before she had to switch to cooking. At least two weeks before Christmas Eve, she shopped, prepped, mixed, baked, iced, sliced, and poured. A few close relatives were allowed to bring signature dishes (Aunt Margaret's taco dip), but the majority was prepared by my grandma. From scratch. The night of, she had everything ready by the time church got out at 4. People would come earlier, but that was the biggest rush. 

It was a whirlwind of activity, excitement, and light. Every available surface and space was covered in decorations. Glowing ceramic villages with skating ponds and banks boasted populations rivaling the guest list. My cousins and I tried to count all the trees (at least a foot tall) that were inside the house and lost count at 47. I've had an ornament collection since birth. 

For the decade before 2019, I was married to a person who did not believe Christmas was a legitimate holiday. He refused any decor that hinted at Christmas, down to pine-scented candles. I acquiesced to keep the peace. After all, he was right about the history of Yuletide. Personally, I prefer Saturnalia, regardless of my baptism in any modern church. Neither did I relish the idea of lying to any (nonexistent) children about where their gifts came from. But observing this holiday, marking this point in the year with my family, is core to my wellbeing. So, every year, I'd go to my family celebration alone and deflect questions from well-meaning guests regarding his absence. Disappointing excuses turned into knowing eye-rolls over the years. 

At home, he denigrated every practice and tradition, calling my family sheep. He laughed wryly when I would head out, and go on a rant about consumerism when I brought gifts home. 

He showed up a couple times towards the end. On the phone constantly the first time before leaving early, then slowly integrating to the extent he could. At the end of the night as we walked to the car, or on the drive home, or in bed later, he ranted. Someone he'd disagreed with hadn't immediately caved, or I didn't pay enough attention to him and obviously didn't actually care that he came anyway, so what's the fucking point?? 

Breathe.

Now, I'm on the cusp of the second Christmas where I get to decide. Last year was raw. Both decor and spirit were tentative. It was only four months since he'd actually moved out and his things still cluttered my basement. I was tired. 

Now, I have the resources and time to find unique gifts for my dearest ones. I make them festive and individualized.

As I rest, I feel a deep recognition of the loss of these traditions for a third of my life. I sob at my hand-me-down tree.

Everything I have is a gift. 

[bipolypsy]

Fig trees are an incomplete metaphor

Admiring and fretting over this one or that one

I want a tart full of carefully chosen fruits in a tender-crumbed, golden foundation

All their bubbly juices combining in the oven's crucible

Baked

Sweet

Savored

Impermanent