BLOGGERS ARE SEXY!

Yes, you read that right. You are. All of you.

This is why…

In a world saturated with image managed social media trending repugnant vacuous bullshit, there are still people out there like you. People with brains. People with minds that function at ridiculously high levels of complexity. Introverts (ie. writers) are sexy-yes you fucking are!

Introverts run circles round the extroverts in the blogosphere. We’re in our element here! Extroverts and your pedestrian dull as dishwater small talk are not welcome here.

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Blogging is for people who have a spark about them, not a ‘beat you round the head with flashing neon light have you heard the latest about the Kardashians’ spark, but a spark so fucking bright, you mind fuck me every single day!

When I log into WP and scan through the posts in front of me I feel my excited anticipation begin to build. How I wonder will you all collectively mind fuck me today with your wisdom, your ideas, your spirit, your determination, your passion, your emotion, your soul, your ability to stimulate and bend my mind, just with the power of carefully selected and arranged words, and sometimes images and music too.

You are fucking hot!

You turn me on!

You ignite my mind…and for me to be turned on it’s ‘a mind thing’.

Work the g spot in my mind with your blog posts, “ah yeah, RIGHT THERE!” I cry out in ecstasy.

That’s hit the spot-fuck me that post was good ;)

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REBLOG the fucking arse off it!

I must-because I’ve been mind fucked and I wanna share the joy so you can be mind fucked too.

You took me on a journey.

You moved me to tears.

You inspired me.

You made me realise I’m not alone.

You offered a welcome escape.

You made me smile.

I giggled like a delighted baby playing peek a boo and never getting bored of it.

YOU MIND FUCKED ME REAL GOOD!

I salute the intelligent.

I salute the original.

I salute the brave, bold and candid. You fucking excite me!

You really do!!!

You make me feel emotions that are different to what I was feeling 2 seconds ago.

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Climax upon climax. Fuck me, that post was good. I need a lie down!

Stimulate me up here pointing to head and you stimulate me down here pointing somewhere else ;)

Does anyone else think bloggers are sexy?!

It can’t just be me!

You use your brains and I have no fucking idea what most of you look like, sometimes even what gender you are (not that it particularly matters)…but still you excite me and I love you for what you do to me! Seriously!

Bloggers, you mind fucked me real good :)

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PLUNGE INTO THE BLUE 

Plunged into a world of blue…dry ice…spotlights…a guy I know so well led me through…

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Through the dry ice to the other side…a place to scream and plunge down and slide

Thought maybe it was high time I died

It will get better they say

Was that truth? or had they lied?…

You told me it’d improve,  well improve it did…

Crisis averted, Summer shut the trauma box lid

SLAM goes the lid of the box with all of that crap

Only sound you’ll hear is the survivor’s slap

PTSD doesn’t have to rule my life

I’m a mum, a friend & a suicide attempt surviving wife

I’m proud of me, in all kinds of ways

It’ll take more than fucked up brain chemicals to lead this bitch astray

Call yourself a bitch. Why you say this? Summer, you’re nice!

Friendly and warm, wired to appeal and entice

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Many sides, many colours, a rainbow of dirty, splashed in petrol infused puddles

Oil and water, they meet in me

Infusion of ‘something’-sweet as can be

Sour sometimes, fiery always

Temperament changeable, crying in nightclub doorways

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Assault. attack. depression- impulse control truthfully slack

This girl got the knack

Are you brave enough? Brave enough to allow yourself to get closer?

Raised by a mum with undiagnosed anorexia nervosa

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Don’t eat. Don’t sleep. No Power. Learned the world full of creeps

The creeps can’t get near you though now, so don’t panic or fret

This bitch is gonna seize her life back-victory I’ll most definitely get

Anger issues, ran out of tissues, emotion wrung out completely, what are today’s big issues?

Yeah “I got issues”, don’t pretend anything else

Self recrimination is bad for mental health

So I pledge to love myself, and to amass kind people’s affection to boost that emotional wealth

Footsteps silent, determined and stealth

She’s crept up behind you, tapped you on the shoulder

Abusers, remember me? Blood runs suddenly colder

What do they see when they look at me?

A smiling grown woman who feels entitled to ‘be’

Shame no more. I like who I am

I pity you, you’re the ones bleating like newborn lambs

You’re going to die soon y’know, you’re getting quite old

I’ll enjoy BLOWING your cash when your pricey surburban house gets emptied and sold

That’s the first time I’ll ever enjoy BLOWING YOU

When you’re dead I’ll stand over your grave and in the most dignified way say…

“YOU MEAN NOTHING TO ME. SO DADDY, FUCK YOU”

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HE + SHE = WE

One plus one.This is our story. When he and she became we.

You and me-eyes locked together in a smoky pub. I looked to the floor. I was shy. You were confident. I thought you were too good for me. You wanted me. You stared at me. You got drunk. I got drunker. You followed me to the club. “Yes, I am wearing something under this big black fur coat” I had to say, as you cheekily asked me. You danced around me. We danced together. We kissed. We left and walked in the same direction to my parent’s house-you did the gentlemanly thing of walking me home to keep me safe. I was sweet sixteen. You were totally twenty and you had your own car. FREEDOM from the enslavement of life with my abusers a.k.a ma famille.

Heady highs. Intoxicated sensual bonding magical fantastic you fucked me senseless just like I wanted you to. Every day a dream better than dreams were advertised as. You accepted my occasional tears. You are a beta man, not an alpha. Gimme a beta man specimen any day of the week. Sensitive, kind, yeah a little emotionally inept, but you had HEART. You still have heart, but I’ve beat a lot of that joy out of you and I’m so sorry my love.

Crying became more. Fucking happened less. Depression. Breakdown. Prozac prescription at sixteen, but you fucking stayed! You didn’t desert me-YOU NEVER HAVE. You chuckled at my “high maintenance personality”…we both laughed at it. “I’ll always keep you on your toes I said, keep life interesting”….

What have I done to keep your life “interesting”?

Pluses. I’m good in bed. I’m hot. I gave you two beautiful babies. That’s it.

Minuses. I’m mentally unwell. I had another breakdown, this one a suicidal one-I tried to drown myself once and took two major overdoses. I was hospitalised for my safety during acute crisis three times. I tried to kill myself on the hospital ward. I cut myself when I can’t cope. Last year you took 4 months sick leave because I couldn’t be left alone without trying to kill myself. The year before it was 3 months.

I’m hardly a great catch am I!?

But you fucking stay! You stayed at home to be with me today. You will be around tomorrow too. You will never leave me, no matter what I do. I had affairs. You forgave me. I’m a total bitch to you sometimes. A TOTAL BITCH, but you fucking love me, for whatever reason you love me and you always will. It can’t just be cause of the blow jobs surely??! I know they’re good but not enough to base a marriage on ;)

You love me for me.

You don’t want anybody else.

It is starting to sink in just how much you love me, to have put up with all of this, all of me. You want me for ETERNITY.

I will give you eternity.

I promise you.

I will stay.

I love you.

I can never live my life without holding your hand.

I know you will stay.

I really fucking have you don’t I. I have your love. I have your loyalty. I have your devotion. Why that is I have no idea, but I am starting to believe it. I am starting to feel secure. It has taken me 18 years of testing to know I got you. You got me.

And it all began when he and she became we.

Perfect two. Me and you

X

If we had our time over again and you asked me to marry you again…of course I’d say, “I do” x

 

WHY DO THE BIRDS SING? TW

Why do the birds sing, today of all days?

Don’t they know of my malaise?

Cars roll past-people go about their day

Of last night, I dunno know what to say

I’m here, I’m here. I still fucking here

Slides on black ice like Bambi the frightened deer

Bambi on drugs, but only the ones doled out on prescription

A thirst for binging is her typical crisis affliction

She cut herself too, prefer not to say “I”

She is ashamed, though honest she never did it to die

She cut because cutting is safer than “other”

A few little lines that still sting, now hid under a plaster for cover

‘Other’-the meaning-must I spell it out?

Slipped in her religious recovery-guess she’s not so devout

Not so devout in her faith of herself

Overcoming the odds? No, she toppled off the high up RELAPSE shelf

Broke into pieces

while she dreamt of languishing on pain-free tropical beaches

Sucked by mental illness PTSD infested leeches

Stupid how she does those vlogs and speeches

She’s imperfect and doesn’t always practise the good intentions that she preaches

Email sent to psychologist lady

Ignoring suicidal pain is pretty clinically risky and shady

I reckon so anyway

Issues loaded on a boat that won’t sail away

Just gimme a break please gimme a break

Swam to the bottom of depression’s icy lake

Not by choice

Sank more like

Impailed on hypomania’s spike

What do you do when you’re feeling like both drowning and flying?

Taking your chance on a game of twisted poker-faced I-fucking-spying

Why birds must you sing?

Where marks the end to this mood swing?

Sick of this crisis thing

Cut myself again

Danger

High voltage

All alone

Dogs walked by a friend

Kids safe with their grandma

Just me in this house and my mind

Prepare for Summer rain’s next downpour

She can cry now

In private

Crisis signature of consent remains un-signed

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

HYPO GLARE

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This was going to be titled hypomanic reflections, as I’m hypomanic and wanted to do a spot of clever thinking, but then I realised I’m hypomanic so can’t think as everything is so FAST so instead of reflection it’s more GLARE in capital letters. Typing super fast (I am) can you tell. Life as I know it is BONKERS but lush, and tonight I’m hypo and tomorrow I may be anything and before I was depressed and my thoughts don’t make sense and are badly disorganised and I’m not editing this as this has only taken 65 secs to type so far so excuse any errors that may come up…this is all to illustrate hypomania.

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It’s something that’s often part of bipolar disorder but I get it too because I have emotionally unstable personality disorder which is basically bipolar vastly speeded up with some extra bits added which mean I feel a lot if pain and also much pleasure. I get the extreme bits of the edge of the curve which you probably don’t, unless you’re bipolar, cyclothymic or EUPD/ BPD like me. I cycle a lot. I prefer to say cycle rather than swing as swinging is what children do and people who like to have sex with other people’s husbands. I also would quite like to have sex with other people but don’t act on it so I’m not technically a swinger. I prefer the term mood cycling. I don’t believe I made any spelling errors yet which makes me quite cool *bo selecta!*

My guy BFF said last night my personality is INTENSE which I’m cool with. I can’t exactly argue with that can I…I have moods of calmness and lots of depression but I’m also quite chirpy like a bird and lively like a lively person who swallowed a bottle of lively potion-emotion do you know stands for energy-in-motion so I have a lot of emotion which means I am constantly mother fucking in motion running fucking fast doing marathons backwards then forwards in my sleep and awake plus awake when I’m asleep. SPEED. And I wanted drugs this weekend surely I must have realised I don’t need drugs when I can trip just from being my authentic personality! Crazy times!!! I like my personality. Some don’t. Fuck ’em if they don’t, and if I’m hypomanic I’ll fuck em when I do too ;) as horniness is a sign of hypomania I think I might stop and breathe for a quick minute………………………….you shouldn’t have typed that *sorry guys and girls*

Whoa.

I took some breaths there. Making myself type  s  l  o  w. Otherwise I will lose my credibility as a blogger who can spell and use punctuation in the manner the creators of the English language intended.

Whoa…… s  l  o  w   d  o  w  n.

Hypomania is quite a quirky part of my “condition.”

Last night I asked my guy BFF about how I come across to him, and whether I had any constancy in personality. He said I am constant, but with very wide margins of variability (or something like that) which basically equates to “NO!” ;) What I think characterises me as a person is depression and I describe myself as a depressive in my blog, but am I really a depressive?

What is most striking to people is how I come across when hypomanic, and I guess that is actually quite a lot, more than I think…but to me the hypomanic phases are fast and gone in the blink of an eye, as my thoughts and everything are lightning quick, so it seems to be only five minutes. How long I’m like this I don’t know.

I’m not hypomanic now.

That was a cycle.

That is because I have calmed myself and realised I’m hypomanic and engaged my brain and remembered how much I usually hurt much of the time. That soon curtails my hypomanic spells. Memory of the shitness that cycles afterwards.*oh poo*

Up.

Down.

Little fish. Big fish. Cardboard box. The mood equivalent of mis-matched ill-fitting socks ;)

I think I’m hilarious in this mood ;) ……You be the judge of that.

Head hurts now.

:(

Cycles of everlasting psychedelic craziness.

You idiot.

You have no minimal control over yourself.

You wrote about swinging you idiot *sigh*

Don’t be so hard on yourself girl. It’s just your brain got a bit jumbled up in the wash by trauma. You were washed in a 60 degree hardcore cotton wash, when you shoulda been washed on a 30 degree delicate cycle…. so now you cycle in mood and you don’t swing and never will.

*sigh*

I feel depressed now. This fucking disorder.

*pulls face that isn’t very happy*

*sigh*

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That was me, in the brief glare of hypomania…*before you pedantic types write in, I know clinical hypomania has to last at least four days, but I just have everything speeded up*

hypomania
ˌhʌɪpə(ʊ)ˈmeɪnɪə/
noun

Psychiatry
noun: hypomania
  1. a mild form of mania, marked by elation and hyperactivity.

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