I’m digging through my archives, although I am not literally digging for say gold or bones, but rather searching through my Rolodex of written entries in Evernote. They date back as far as 2010, before that I was transcribing my thoughts the old-fashioned way, by pen and pad (since my high school years). Technology for the most part has replaced that method, although there is nothing like the feeling of writing, the connection between mind and paper, that feeling of physically writing out a poem, a thought, an idea. Technology has allowed us to produce our works for all to see, in the form of Facebook, WordPress and the like. For that progress I am thankful. All these years, I felt so lonely, me against the world, my pen and pad (my thoughts for my eyes only). They were my secrets. The problem with that is that anytime you hide something or make it a secret it becomes taboo, it becomes abnormal, and that notion can make someone like me dealing with bipolar feel less than. I enjoy writing to an audience, knowing that people see, silly be it as it may, makes me feel not so alone. I have had a great experience on WordPress, conversing about life, bipolar, and our struggles. Community makes us stronger, there is power in numbers. I feel strength in knowing that I am not the only one dealing with/managing such an unreliable mental deficiency. Reading my past works, is like reading a strangers journal. Because that person does not live here anymore. Some of my posts are wild, sad, depraved, but almost always hopeful. I went through hell and came out the other end. My journal entries, posts, & writings are memories etched in time, echos of a familiar place and time. A map of my history. A place that my mind no longer resides in. I used to be so dark, able to write really wicked-dark stuff. I have short stories, beginnings of a screenplay, and chapters to novels. Maybe one day I will finish them, but for now they remain unwritten, in mid-pose, those characters frozen in time, sadly but necessary. I am sure I could still tap into that dark side, but its an eerie place, desolate of hope, redemption; full of pain, lies and mistakes. Maybe one day but until then I will enjoy my time in the light. My life is full of hope, blinding optimism and joy despite my rough past. Through it all I kept my generous-hopeful heart (no matter how many times it was stomped on).
My future is yet to be written but I am hopeful along the journey.