So. Many. Fucking. Lies. So. Many. Fucking. Things.

Today was an off day….I was fed up with everything.

I hardly experience this as my dominant emotion.

It was weird for me. 

It put me in a headspace I'm not so sure I was prepared for.

It made me think...a lot.

I have been avoiding doing that like the plague. 

Thinking for me never ends anyway other than badly.  

I guess it was time. 

God how I hated to admit this. 

I haven't seen a therapist in nearly a decade and I was overdue for an appointment with myself for some reflection. 

I had to talk to someone.

I had to talk to me. 

I was telling myself to get on with it I suppose. 

So I had a little conversation with myself. 

I spent the day thinking and reflecting. 

It wasn't that awful of an experience.

But I hate hating me. 

Although that seems to be an inevitability. 

But here's the thing.

I got hung up on something.

Something kind of big.

Something I never considered.

To be bothersome before.

But now there was something 

That something was lying. 

I hate liars. 

I pride myself on my honesty.

Yet I lie more than anyone I know. 

And I justify it to myself.

We all do though I'm betting though.

There are so many things that stem from bipolar 

Things that you think and things that you feel.

Things that happen.

Things that you do.

Things that you think.

Things that you say.

Things that you hide trying to forget. 

So. Many. Fucking. Lies. 

So. Many. Fucking. Things. 

Things that you are ashamed of.

Things that you don't want to reveal.

These things are embarrassing.

These are things you don't want to say.

These things you keep silent.

These things get hidden away. 

The things that you don't want anybody to know.

The things you don't want to have to feel. Things that you yourself aren't ready to face let alone reveal. 

These lies. 

They can be the smallest thing like saying you are fine when really you are screaming on the inside and suffering in silence. 

I'm sure you are familiar with this particular lie. 

It's easier to pretend you are ok than it is to talk about. 

Especially easier when they don't understand. 

Even easier than hearing "snap out of it" 

Or some other uninformed insensitive comment.

Made by someone thinking they're trying to help. 

I say I'm ok a lot. 

I am trying to save someone the worry.

I say I'm ok a lot. 

So I appear strong. 

I say I'm ok a lot.

It's easier than saying what's wrong. 

Reasons...they matter none.

Telling a lie is what's been done. 

Lies. Lies. Lies. 

So. Many. Fucking. Lies.

So. Many. Fucking. Things.

I couldn't possibly divulge them all.

You see, I do so many things. 

Stupid things. 

Reckless things. 

Dangerous and immoral things. 

Things I know I shouldn't do. 

Things I'm ashamed to admit.

Ashamed of myself. 

I know it's not fully me. 

It's bipolar. 

It's mania. 

It's depression. 

It's everything else and it's in between. 

But it's me. 

I am the one to be blamed. 

I'm there. 

I make the decision

I allow it to happen. 

I don't stop myself when I know that I should. 

I let myself act in a way that's not me. 

Innocent is not a name I can claim. 

Guilty is what better suits me.

I can't say that I did everything I could. 

I am still partially to blame.

These things I keep to myself. 

I won't admit that they have happened. 

I will erase all the traces.

Bury them deep in my memory. 

Keep them locked away. 

Wipe my own slate clean.

I will lie and lie and lie. 

I will let everyone hear me.

Spreading fallacy.

I will do anything to keep them hidden. 

Hidden even from me.

And that in and of itself is a lie.

Isn't it? 

When you avoid saying I did it. 

When you avoid saying it was me. 

So. Many. Fucking. Lies.

So. Many. Fucking. Things. 

It's becoming too many things for me. 

These are those things I'm ashamed of. 

These things are not like me. 

They may not be huge.

Nothing of consequence really.

But if people were to know of them

They would change their opinions of me.

Even though it is bipolar ultimately. 

But bipolar is me. 

Judgements there will be. 

And that is it right there.

My problem ultimately. 

The judging. 

I can't survive everyone judging me.

I wake up judging myself daily.   

It is getting harder and harder 

Not to hate me. 

How can I not feel that way?

I have to face my own truths.

Staring back at me every day.

So. Many. Fucking. Lies. 

So. Many. Fucking. Things. 

Weighing so heavily 

All I can think is

How sad.

It is to be me. 

The fear of backlash.

The fear of shame.

The lies and deceit 

I know they are to blame.

And they are stopping me.

From progressing 

From handling my bipolar with ease. 

From having stability.

From finding inner peace.

For now, it is an impasse.

I'm just not strong enough yet.

I'm not ready to take ownership.

Not ready to say I did this.

I shouldn't have to realistically. 

It's not entirely my fault. 

Yes I was there. 

Yes I knew better.

No, I didn't stop myself.

But still…

I am bipolar.

It's still me.

Whether I was fully sane or not is of no consequence.

It was still me.

It was my bipolar

But I am my bipolar and my bipolar is me. 

It is always me it seems. 

Nobody will be disappointed in my bipolar.  

They will be disappointed in me.

I'm not ready to face 38 years of disappointment. 

Not yet. 

I don't have the strength. 

I will break.

I will fall.

I will crumble.

So for now…

So. Many. Fucking. Lies. 

So. Many. Fucking. Things. 

Deceit is an inevitability. 

I will lie.

I will hide things.

I will muster on.

I will say I'm fine while I scream on the inside.

I will continue to deceive. 

I don't know about you but I'm exhausted already.