Lost Posts?

A Sandisk-brand USB thumb drive, SanDisk Cruze...

The title is a little misleading… I have not lost any posts but I do have a question for you who write poems, prose, short stories, memoirs…etc.

I write nearly EVERYTHING on this blog. Once in a while I will write a poem or thought in my journal and then put it into a post here in Bipolarmuse ♥ land. Do any of you back up your writings by saving them to your computer or thumb drive… or whatever???

Since I have been writing quite a bit, and I am wanting to self publish some of my writings, I have become a bit paranoid that my writings could somehow get “lost” here in the blog- sphere/ internet.

So, I guess my question is… if you do back up your writings, what would be the best source to back them up on? I am not too tech savvy….but was thinking of transferring them to an external hard drive or something.

 

Any thoughts or suggestions would be awesome!

 

Day 21/30

Day 21: Something you’re proud of.

# 1 – My kids… they make me more than proud. ♥

#2- Myself. I have come a long ways in the last couple years. I truly do not know how I have survived this long, but I have managed to do so and will continue to… for me and for my babies. ♥

# 3 – This blog. I never imagined that I would be an inspiration to others. This is the greatest gift to me and a wonderful way for me to give back to others. ♥ I am so humbled and full of emotion when I know I have reached someone with my story. ♥

Bipolarmuse ♥ – The Gun

The Gun

Now for the easy part of this whole cluster fuck. I am disposing of the huge ass gun that B supposedly  “borrowed” from a friend. Frankly, I don’t give a damn where he got it, but I am getting rid of it.

This thing is so huge and terrifying to me…so terrifying that I just see it as gigantic and deadly.

B is still in bed resting from his night of pill popping/suicidal ideation, but he knows what I am doing so he decides to get up.

I am standing next to the island that separates the kitchen from the living room…staring hypnotically at the gun. What the fuck do I do with it?!

Perfect solution… I will take it to my Aunt, she will know what we should do.

B is all of a sudden standing behind me urging me to keep the gun because it is a “friends”.

I call BULLSHIT. Serious bullshit. And I push him forcefully back.

For all I know, he could have stolen the gun from a friend of his or “bought” it from a friend. In any case, I DON’T CARE.

~ B, you know how I feel about guns… not to mention that I can’t trust you to refrain from shooting me in the back of the head for shits and giggles and then shooting yourself.~

Off goes the cackle… – You are crazy baby girl, that is why we are perfect for each other.-

Yeah, no way would I allow that gun to remain in his hands, nor in mine.

I wrap the gun in a towel… with B protesting every step of the way. His cackle becomes more and more nervous… then nearly stops all together.

I grab a cleaning bucket from the laundry room and place the nicely- towel- wrapped- gun into the bucket, along with the extra hollow point bullets…covering it with another towel.

B is not very happy at the moment… but do I care? HELL NO. He has tortured me so many times with this type of bullshit.

– What the fuck man? You can’t just get rid of it!-

I laugh out loud… B knows me by now and I just give him “the look” to shut his face.

He cackles… that insidious sound echos in my bones. He then retreats back into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him, he doesn’t have much fight in him today. Thank God. I fear with each fight that I get more violent with him.

~~~~~~~~~

I drive to my Aunts house who happens to live around the corner.

I nervously get out of the car and go inside to chit chat with her. She knows instantly that something is not right…she has a knack for that when it comes to me. She knows B and has personally “chest bumped” him with her entire 110lbs, and yelled at him… threatening him to take care of me and straighten out his act. She knows he is bad news, yet supports my decisions.

She can read me so well…

-What’s going on?? I can tell something’s up.-

I lead her out to the car and open my trunk.

I gently remove the towel and expose the gun to show her.

– OH MY GOD baby girl (obviously an overused nickname for me). Where did you get that??!!- Her voice is beyond frantic.

~ I had the wonderful privilege last night of thinking that B killed himself and found this gun just chillin on the counter in our apartment, so I took it and I want to get rid of it. ~

Aunt Deb always has the perfect solution.

We jump in my car and drive to the police station. I walk in with the bucket and hand it to an officer.

I explained that my Aunt and I “found” this gun and the bullets in the gutter near her house. (Yes, lame excuse I know, but I was scared and in shock over how to handle this).

The officer pulled it out, along with the bullets.

– You found THIS gun and hollow point bullets in the gutter?-

~ Yes officer, we did, and we don’t want it to fall into the wrong hands so we brought it here. God forbid if a kid had found it.~

I felt guilty lying to the police, but the gun had to fucking go.

This is the second gun I have taken from B.

Bipolarmuse/2….. B/zeroooooo.

© bipolarmuse 2012

** This is a little excerpt of my life that took place in the year 2000. The story is true to my memory and feelings in that moment. Thank you for taking the time to read… it truly means a-lot to me. **

Charmed

Charmed

Firefly utopian dreams.

Dandelion wishes…

Riding on pixie wings.

~

Enchanted lands…

Offering magical secrets,

In mother natures hands.

~

Riding on dreamy rainbows…

Pure in light, take flight…

Unseen wings travel to lands unknown.

~

Whispers hushed…gently carried.

Charmed only for those,

Who are awake and ready.

© bipolarmuse 2012

Bipolarmuse ♥ He is “OUT”

He is “OUT”

Unbelievable.

B must be out of his favorite painkiller and has inevitably decided to take it out on me. Happens every single fucking time.

When he is not riding the amazing feeling of Vicodin, he becomes the hugest asshole on the face of the planet… especially when he is COMPLETELY out.

What the hell did I just walk into?

Every single photo of us together has been taken down from the wall and the frames are stacked up empty.

Are we having a fight I am totally, inexplicably unaware of?

B is in a frenzy. He is edgy, fidgety, flighty, and in the throes of a clammy cold sweat. Oh yea, he is detoxing BIG time. Poor B… no more pills for you. (SMILE).

~Where the fuck are our pictures B?~

The fucking cackle… it is his trademark.

His eyes are darting to the spare bedroom. His smile wicked. His eyes wild. His face is pitiful. He was in his haughty, smug element…which was becoming the new “norm”.

I glance into the spare room, and to my fucking amazement he has torn every single framed picture of us together into tiny little pieces. Not large rips that could be repaired, but like fucking confetti.

~Why the fuck did you rip up all of our pictures?!~

B is frantically getting his shit together. He puts on his shoes… grabs  his wallet and car keys… and throws on his leather jacket.

~Uhhhh, where do you think your going? And what about our fucking pictures?!~

– Baby girl, we have more pictures, and it isn’t your business where I am going.-

The cackle, the wild eyes, his blatant rude and cruel mood. I am fed up and seeing red.

I begin crying hysterically.

He decided to rip up our pictures and then give ME this attitude like I have done something wrong.

All that is wrong is that he has an addiction to pills and he is apparently OUT of them. Who better to take it out on than me… right?

My makeup is running into my eyes, tears are running off of my face, snot is streaming down my nose, and my anger has reached an all new high.

I block B from the door because I KNOW where he is going… he is going to go find pills.

He is trying to push by me but I am relentlessly pushing back, hitting him in the chest with my fists, trying to rip his jacket off his fucking body.

~Don’t you love me?! If you loved me you would fuckin try to get better!! You are so fucking cruel! ~

I snatch his key and chuck them across the room.

Now the cackle turns into the “you stepped over the line” smirk and humph sound he loves, second only to the cackle.

His eyes tell me that I better fucking stop. I have crossed the line.

My mascara is running down my eyes and face…my eyes feel so puffy that I can barely see. I am crying to the point that I cannot breath. My fists hurt from hitting him. Our fucking pictures are ripped into smithereens.

What matters to this asshole? The pills.

He retrieves his keys, pushes me aside and holds me at the entryway hall with one arm while opening the front door with the other.

I watch him with the stare of death and lost hope.

He closes the door behind him.

He is “out”.

An hour later he is back… loving, sweet, cuddly, and affectionate.

And his pupils are the size of a pin dot… looks like he found what he was looking for.

© bipolarmuse 2012

** This is a little excerpt of my life that took place in the year 2000. The story is true to my memory and feelings in that moment. Thank you for taking the time to read… it truly means a-lot to me. **

Day 20/30

Day 20: Something you wonder “What if…?” about.

Doing “Mindfulness” based therapy has helped me to rid this little question from my brain…of which I am grateful. The “what ifs” in life can truly pummel you to a pulp if you let them.

The only “what if” I have is regarding my mental health issues.

What if I never had Bipolar Disorder, Borderline Personality Disorder, or anxiety/panic attacks?

I guess if I question the “what if”, I would have to question who I would be today??

Would I be a poet? Would I love to write? Would I feel so passionately? Would I have all four of my amazing children??

I would keep these disorders because I wouldn’t want to change a thing about the above mentioned.

Besides, I am beginning to like me. ♥

Bipolarmuse ♥ My Poison

My Poison

Damn! I can’t get in touch with B.

This morning was dreadful…there was  something in his eyes that didn’t sit well with me. He is highly agitated, withdrawn, not making eye contact, and acting “off” to say the least.

No matter his mood, I have to work, even if my gut instinct is to call out to “watch” him.

I have talked to him only once since getting to work and he is beyond cocky and arrogant… not to mention that his tone of voice lacks love and compassion.

My day progresses and I have not recieved any calls from him. FUCK. Every time I try to call him, his phone goes directly to voice-mail. What should I do?? I can tell in my gut, the rancid taste of anxiety in my throat, that something is not right.

I am now freaking the fuck out.

I still have another hour of work and I simply cannot leave.

I call the roommate of B’s sister since she lives in the same apartment complex, and I ask her to please check to see if his car is there, and if so, to please go knock on the door to make sure he is ok.

Everyday it feels like I am trying to keep this wild, crazy man alive. It is so taxing on me that I literally feel sick daily. I have lost a tremendous amount of weight… from 110lbs to 86lbs which is absolutely frightening. I eat, but I get sick from stress and cannot hold food in. This is my life with B… constant stress and chaos.

She checks on him and calls me back.

– His car is there but he is not answering the door.-

Panic begins to set in… not simple anxiety, but panic. The panic that makes me sick and believe that I am going to pass out or die.

Work is over and I RACE home. I am so sick to my stomach that I contemplate pulling over to puke out all my nerves.

What am I going to find when I get home?? B overdosed?? Maybe he got his hands on a new gun (I have already gotten rid of the one he owned).

Oh my God, please don’t let me find him with his head blown off, blood all over the place.

Please be alive.

I walk through the door of our apartment… I am shaking uncontrollably at this point and convinced that he has finally succeeded at killing himself.

The apartment is dark and I fear turning on the lights. What is the fucking light going to reveal to me?

I contemplate calling the police.

Instead, I turn on the light and glance around the room. He isn’t in here, but the bedroom door is closed. That is where he is, probably dead.

I walk past the kitchen and noticed he had written on a piece of paper hanging on the wall that says, “I’m sorry. I love you all”.

My trembling increases and I am on the verge of throwing up. Then I notice a huge ass gun sitting on the island that divides the kitchen from the living area. I am somewhat relieved because if the gun is here, then obviously he didn’t use it.

Now I have to worry about an overdose.

I grab the doorknob to our bedroom and hold my breath. I peek inside and it is pitch black. No light is shining whatsoever. Darkness envelopes me.

I flip on the light and B is laying in bed. I can see his face and I take note of the puffiness under his eyes. He was probably crying all day… I have seen it happen before.

I go to him and see the rise and fall of his chest. Fuck yes! He is still alive!! All my fucking emotions come out and I run to the bathroom and puke up any ounce of food left in my stomach and then dry heaved for a hot minute.

I then wake B up. It is a bit difficult for him to come out of his sleep and he is not very alert. He definitely was high on something. He gets high on anything… muscle relaxers, pain pills, alcohol combined with any downer he can get his hands on. You name it, he will get high on it.

I start to cry, uncontrollable sobs. The type that takes the breath from your chest.

– I love you baby girl, I couldn’t do it. –

I punch him in the chest.

 Sobbing ~ If you ever do that to me again B, you better be dead, or I will kill you myself. And by the way, that gun will not be here tomorrow. I am fucking disposing of it. ~

I punch him one more time for good measure and then I hear the cackle.

Fuckin’ B and his cackle will be the death of me.

My poison.

© bipolarmuse 2012

** This is a little excerpt of my life that took place in the year 2000. The story is true to my memory and feelings in that moment. Thank you for taking the time to read… it truly means a-lot to me. **