Let It Burn. The Idealistic And Miserable Ravings Of A Self-Professed ‘Mad*’ Woman.

I was covered in blood, by myself, vodka in hand, head not stopping its endless stream. I was sitting in near darkness, candle burning, blade in one hand and drink in the other. I was better than that, I should’ve been better, I will be better. I need to be sober. Need to stop debasing myself, my own self-ruin. I was trapped in the cage that is my mind, banging against the bars as the innately primal instinctual creature, asking myself all the unanswerable questions. Wondering if it’s all worth it. The births, deaths, sadness and happiness all come and go, the tides quickly changing, the planets realigning. I need to realise what I want and recognise what I don’t. I also acknowledge that this is always changing and is circumstantial. Having the term ‘mentally ill’ coined to me makes me feel tainted, like I’m not the whole person I thought myself to be. I miss the bliss of oblivion, the complete unawareness and the naivety. I’m inflicting pain on myself and others. I’m trying to be honest to myself, aware of my misguided undertakings. I went to the psychiatrist today, I need fixing.


I wait in the waiting room, the room filled with those generic ‘happy pictures’. We are all here for the same reasons, our minds need fixing. No one makes the awkward eye contact and when someone recognises an acquaintance the niceties are exchanged, but no one mentions or questions why they are here. It’s all very hushed, like the words would be tainted and distasteful. We are mentally ill, that’s why we are here. The man across from me looks me up and down, trying to figure me out, attempting to pinpoint why I’m here, sometimes I don’t know, other times it’s easier to understand. I looked nice today, out of place with the others, my manic self was present, red skirt, black lace overlay and red lipstick. I was a predator today, eyeing off my prey, not caring if they were guy or girl, it never matters when I’m like this. My psychiatrist making the inappropriate comment that I should be a model, I laugh and change the subject, feeling uncomfortable. Men are easy, too easy sometimes, catching their eye and holding their attention. I’ve never had a problem getting guys, it’s harder for them to hold my attention, similar to getting a new toy that is quickly tired of and thrown aside. I get bored, I move on. We are like mayflies, dancing for the day, luminescent and alluring.

My medication was increased today and I was given new sleeping tablets. He never mentioned that I was talking over him or continuously, 30mins for $250, I spent my time discussing peer reviewed psychology journals, I’m still trying to work out whether I wasted my time or got exactly what I wanted, more meds. I think its necessary to be well read and have awareness, without awareness you are limiting your capacity to attempt to understand yourself. I keep wondering sarcastically if I will get a ‘gold star’ for getting better. I will fix myself, but it will take time, I have the creams to heal my scars and I have the medication to create a balance. Now to throw myself into managing my illness. I have a date on Monday, with a nice guy for once, I wouldn’t usually go for the stereotypical ‘nice guy’, but this might be good for me. Wish me luck. Hope everyone else’s endeavours are fruitful. x

2 thoughts on “Let It Burn. The Idealistic And Miserable Ravings Of A Self-Professed ‘Mad*’ Woman.”

  1. The therapist commenting that you should have been a model is inappropriate for a few reasons. What can we do when that happens? Tell them that they should not comment on how pretty we are? Tell them they have no business giving us advice on careers? Tell them they have no right to put us on the spot by making a comment that makes us feel we have to reply to something that there is no proper response to ?
    Are they just baiting us? The comment he made triggers anxiety in me core. I am sorry he was like that with you.
    I wonder if male or female therapists are better? I guess it is more the right combination of client and therapist that matters. I have trouble trusting any of them.



    1. I don’t think any gender is better for mental health. Inappropriate comments definitely don’t help the situation, guess sometimes life is just like that though. I also think he was baiting me to see how hypomanic or stable I was, the hypomanic side might have agreed with the comment…maybe.


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