Hello friends! Honored to have this article featured for bpHope Magazine’s blog, regarding meeting the archetype of Bipolar: https://www.bphope.com/blog/if-i-ever-meet-mr-bipolar/
I hope you enjoy!
Hello friends! Honored to have this article featured for bpHope Magazine’s blog, regarding meeting the archetype of Bipolar: https://www.bphope.com/blog/if-i-ever-meet-mr-bipolar/
I hope you enjoy!
Today is the day of the club
The one I didn’t want to be in
I am a Survivor they tell me
Yet I don’t know where to begin
Facing a pain that is enormous
The one that just won’t go away
Suicide is not painless
To the ones who are left far away
Some day I hope to be a light
For others left behind
Until that day
All I can say
Is I still haven’t mended my mind
I see a red door
And I want it painted black
It will shatter in a thousand pieces
I’m afraid there’s just no turning back
The pieces are wind blown
All scattered about
I chase after them, pleading…
Someone help me out
Like my heart
The pieces are broken and torn
Blowing in the wind
To the sky they have flown
Has anyone seen
The shards of my heart?
Please bring them back to me
Perhaps I can start
To piece them together
With Love as the glue
Until that time
I will despise the wind that blew
Blew you away
Along with my heart
Yes I am a Survivor
Hey, that’s a start!
I am a Survivor
And it just doesn’t end
I am a lonely girl
Chasing the wind
Has anybody seen him?
If you see him, could you ask him to stay?
Tell him my heart is missing
And I need him to show me the way
A beautiful piem by a very talented friend!
red chameleon beckoned me out
entranced me with its glossy glaze
matched the blood that fell from me
walked past the broken grill
with the torn black cover
said hello to the baby leaves
and
let the purple tendrils wrap themselves
around my knees
“Stay with us forever!”
I pretend to hear them plead
What beautiful, caring creatures – I think
look up at the black
feel the moisture run down my back
marvel that it’s too humid to even breathe
watch the red chameleon crawl into
a place that I cannot go
we all can’t be Alice that gets to fall
into that glorious rabbit hole
look away – rip my eyes from its gaze
feel the purple tendrils unwrap their grip
from my knees
go back into my crumbling house
ignore their saddened stance
ignore their fictitious pleas
Stigma sucks
I should know
Sometimes it follows me
Wherever I go
Some say it’s my own fault
Don’t ask and don’t tell…
Keep it in the closet
And all will be swell
The notion is caustic
To live life in shame
It gives me the message
I’m filthy and lame
But I will not hide
My light under a bush
I will not pretend
But I will not push
If you want to know I’ll tell you
I’ve nothing to hide
I am not crazy
And I still have my pride
So up goes my head
As I walk with a swagger
You can keep your stigma
‘Cause it just doesn’t matter
It don’t matter to me
It don’t inhabit my mind
So go stick the stigma
Where the sun don’t shine.
Yes, up goes my head
As I walk with a swagger
You’re stigma can’t hurt me
‘Cause it just doesn’t matter.
So excited to share my post for bpHope magazine. I have been an avid reader of their online magazine, and for years followed articles about Carrie Fisher. When she passed away, I decided to “go for it’ and apply to be a part of the bpHope.com writing community as a guest writer. I was inspired by her bravery and candor. If you are interested in reading, here is the link:
http://www.bphope.com/blog/a-leap-of-faith/
“I grew up in this kind of fishbowl existence and I figured, if people were going to say it about me, then I was going to say it first and I was going to say it better. It’s my way of trying to own a situation.” ~Carrie Fisher
Tips on how to share your confidence and poise in the “selfie”
All mothers are special. Incredibly special. Outstanding. They all have their own special talents and attributes and we should be so thankful for them. As for me, I am especially grateful that my mother is a Saint. She may not have been recognized by the Pope, (yet…), but she is forever recognized in my heart and mind.
Growing up in my mother’s household, our clothing and blankets were sewn by her hands. Our costumes for ballet, elaborate and dashing, were made by her hands as well. She decorates and cooks better than Martha Stewart, only she doesn’t have a staff to help her. Her house is always immaculate.
If there are three main lessons that I have learned from my mom, the first is that there is a God, He loves us all, and He does not discriminate. She taught us to respect and value all religions, and to never act like we had “all the answers”. The second is that all people should be treated with respect and dignity. She deliberately taught us not to subscribe to the stereotypes, labeling, and prejudices that the world tried so hard to ingrain in us. The last was that she taught us to believe in ourselves and follow our dreams, whatever they may be. And this is a good thing, because she had three daughters who were quite the dreamers. She encourages us in whatsoever we may aspire to be, no matter how big or small.
Growing up, she was our biggest cheerleader. Any activity we were involved in, from school to extracurricular activities, she volunteered to help with. She was very popular among my friends, and continues to be, for there is just no one like Donna.
No one.
My mother, she is a smart cookie. Brilliant really. This part might make her blush, but she has almost a photographic memory. She knows a lot about just about everything. She remembers every face and every name, and incredible details, no matter how long it has been. She owned a hardware store when we were growing up, and faced the inevitable sexism that she encountered with grace, courage, and gumption. Because, at the end of the day, she knew more, gave more, and cared more. And people respected that.
The greatest gift my mother has given to the world is her love and passion for people. She has never met a stranger. She would give the shirt off her back to anyone, in a heartbeat. She is generous with her money, time, and talents. She is an artist. She is talented and special.
Oh, how I love my mother….
So yes, my mother is a Saint. For she worked and sacrificed for our family with every ounce of energy that she had. I don’t know where she gets that energy, but it is abundant. Everyone who meets her just loves her. And why? Because her love and positive energy radiates wherever she goes.
I can never even hope to be half the mother as the one that I have. If I am just one percent of the fabulous mother/grandmother that she is, I will be a fine one.
So to Saint Donna, I say, I love you. I admire you. I honor you.
Happy Mother’s Day!