1. I do NOT, again, I do NOT write to gain any form of sympathy. If that even enters your mind, as it has a few of you, LEAVE, do not come back. If you do truly know me, love me, or know what I am going through you already know why I write and I have no need to explain it.
2. Today, my mind is extremely jumbled. I may write things that just plain don't make sense because I'm trying to make sense of it myself by just getting it out. That alone, does not mean that I'm wearing my crazy crown at the moment either.
3. I'm not proofreading today. period.
4. Today, I have no clue what needs to come out, I just need to write. And yes, there will negative things.......doesn't mean that I'm wearing my depressed crown either. Maybe, I'm sifting through the negative to let in the sunshine?
At the moment, my brain feels fuzzy and I can almost visualize the electrons misfiring. It's a horrible feeling leaving me begging a neurological surgeon to just take it all away. And today of all days, I had my appointment with my Neuro-Psychiatrist. He only does the medication part, not the talking. I NEEDED the talking today. I've felt extremely isolated lately. I have people around to talk to, but I REALLY need someone doesn't just refer me to doctors, ask if I have taken my medications, or think that I have my pity party crown on. As a matter a fact, after being told by someone that they don't want to hear anything except good things, I shut down. The bad things are the exact things that I NEED to talk about and work out. Since then I do my best to hide about ninety percent of how I am actually feeling. Why worry my family? Why lead them to believe the crown of despair is always wobbling on my head. It seems as if I have nowhere to go besides my mom. She understands, mostly, what I am going through. But, I know my mom, she has unfounded guilt about passing the crown of Bipolar down to me, so why would I want to make her feel even more horrible?
Luckily, my Psychiatrist is trying to compile some therapists to go to. I pray, oh, I pray it's a good one.
I don't like therapists. They take history. They take notes.
But, they don't know my soul. Something I do have in my life, but unfortunately it just won't work.
So, I will polish up my needy crown and sift through every therapist until I feel that connection that my spirit needs so much.
Now, I shall put on my delusional crown. Many of you know that I hallucinate and hallucinate frequently at night. One doctor said that I should be wearing a crown of Pychosis. Another a crown of delusions held up by P.T.S.D. My new doctor is running many tests to see if the crown of Salvador Dali fits well.
See, my Doctor thinks that not all my hallucinations are actual hallucinations. He believes many of them, especially close to night time are waking dreams. (Many people have speculated that Dali would keep himself awake long enough to induce a dreaming state and then painting what he saw.)
As, for me, I enjoy my sleep, but it is never, ever quality sleep, leaving little time for the R.E.M that we all need. Basically he thinks that I have disruptive sleep cycles and waking dreams. The medicine that they propose will hopefully cure it! Placing crown of hope on now!
The other thing about Dali, is that my Dr. wants me to actually explore my artistic side and start painting my hallucinations. When he said that, I could barely contain the laughter. He. was. not. amused. "Karli, you need to try it, your emotions need to get out, please try. As I said, "ok," I pictured myself in a kindergarten classroom seated at a tiny easel with my glittering princess crown lying on the floor while a dunce cap took it's place.
Maybe, I will try and paint what I see, but it may be years before I show them to a soul. I crave acceptance and that's why I will be wearing my ugly crown of rejection while attempting brush strokes.
We left my appointment and headed to re-enroll Jakob in school. We arrived at school and before I shut the door I grabbed the crown that I wear most often, the beautifully adorned, always polished, crown of deception. Hopefully the beauty of the crown shining so elegantly will distract them from the true me. It worked and we were out of there.
Then, I saw him. I stared at him. and I cried.
It was a little boy the age that Isaiah would have been. In all of thirty seconds I watched his curls bounce on his head even I never saw Isaiah at this age, he looked so much like him. he slid down the slide and then looked in my eyes and smiled.
My emotions couldn't handle it and I didn't know what to do with myself. I certainly didn't want to talk to anyone. So, I decided to pick Josiah up a little early so all of the kids could be together.
I walked in MLA with my broken and tattered crown on and waited for my angel to come through those doors. I held him and I cried. At that very moment, he was what I needed. Maybe he needs an angel
Honestly, after writing, I still feel unwell. So, I am going to take each one of my crowns and put them in the proper place and then get into bed adorned by my crown of Beauty. Because even if no one sees it, I'm a super awesome person who is beautiful inside and out.