Friday, January 6, 2012

Desert Spider's Song

Upon my return to the southern swampland

I realized I had taken a home

The plant was new to me and gorgeous

and I selfishly stole for a mere memory

I wanted the desert with me always

I never wanted to forget

The pictures in my mind of the beauty,

the splendor

the freshness of the crisp air

the mountains' energy

It just wasn't enough for me

For my mind's pictures are often tainted

with black smudgy fingerprints that belong to someone else

Warped and blended with past, present and unknown futures

that may or may not affect what I see

what I hear

what I feel

who I am

I took and demanded

I don't even remember asking the universe

if it would be ok

That's something I normally would have done

with more time

to think

to focus

to heal

But I rushed and took and was careless

Careless not in the way that is safe

careless because it is how I'm being taught to behave

I discovered a living thing
a creature
a tiny desert spider
alive and well in his home

How did he survive for all of those days locked in a
plastic zip lock bag, still clutching on to the small branch,
his home?

I will never know

But he made it

He seemed calm and peaceful
and not upset at me or anything

Just living in the plant that was his home

He probably took no notice to any changes
He just knew he was safe because his branch was there
The tiny pod he slept in was still there and he probably figured
he'd figure out what was going on later

That's how a lot of us are
as long as we're happy we'll figure the rest out later

And I envy to be that way always as well

I was sad to discover the spider
I was sad I had ripped his home from it's land

So I made amends with the universe,
apologized to the spider

And set the bag out open hoping he'd learn how to adapt and survive
in this new environment
this humid land
where negativity seems to abound everywhere
no matter where you try to hide

I awoke in the morning
to check on my spider friend

He was dead

Clutching on to his home in the corner of the bag

I believe the air just killed him

He never had a chance

So he stayed home

Safe in the bag

Safe in his pod

And probably crawled out to see the sunrise one last time

In this new place

He was alone in the branch when I took him

And I imagine he was an old spider and was happier to have been alone

when he passed

I lament now

not for his life

for I truly believe he is happy now

and was happy to have gone on such a big journey

and will hold no hard feelings toward me

I lament and cry for me

and am thankful to this spider

this living creature

for reminding me

See how easily we can ignore living things
for our own mere enjoyment and amusement

for our precious and fragile minds that forever seem to forget?

And then see how we are reminded
when a life is lost
how way more precious that is
than any moment we may have missed out on because
we were so careless?

It's never what we are doing really
it's who we do them with
that make them so special and memorable

I do not want to forget
ever, ever
never again

And it starts in my heart
for I feel it tingling

The voice is clear and speaks to my foggy brain
in a language only I can understand

I choose to share with some
and keep the rest to me

Never out of fear or doubt
but for love

Love and respect of myself and all I hold dear to me

Small and large visions and treasures

That I feel all should see

Sooner or later or eventually

When stars align and songbirds sing

when tears turn to laughter

when storms pass

when a soft wind touches your being
and not just your face or hair


The best time to appreciate all and everything
is always, always, always right now

Friday, June 17, 2011


I know you're watching

Just as I am

I can feel it

You look up often

Just as I do

I know it

You are dressed in moonlight

And I dance under you

Waiting patiently

For you to reach out

So I can take your hand

Because my heart,

You already have.

Monday, June 13, 2011

Didn't Sleep Much

It’s ok though.

I did get almost 4 hours I think.

That’s usually enough for me to semi function.

Today’s like early this am when I last blogged.

Everything feels dream-like but I do have what I was reading about in my head before I went to sleep right now.

Right when I started feeling those “strange” (what I’m kinda always assuming are) migraine-y feelings I googled “writers and epilepsy” and came across some very interesting things.

(Why I chose to do this right then I don’t know.)

I always knew that Lewis Carroll had epilepsy but I didn’t know that Poe, Tennyson and even Van Gogh were believed to have had it too.

It made me think about how everything I had ever learned about them and their lives was always attached to the notion that they all were just “crazy” or “alcoholics”. Teachers throughout my life have even used phrases as strong as “this guy was off their nut” to describe certain behaviors these artists had and certain things that they did throughout their lives.

Well, my research not only spawned feelings of slight anger and annoyance over this but also led me to learn more about a condition known as Hypergraphia.

Hypergrafphia is the compulsive urge to write. It is not a disorder. It is actually associated with Temporal Lobe Epilepsy and Bipolar Disorder.

I usually see these two actual disorders in articles and they always relate to each other.

Now, back when I was a teenager and being diagnosed with “possible Bipolar Disorder” or “possible Clinical Depression” (I didn’t stick around long enough for them to decide which medications were going to work to make the decision of what was actually wrong with me but that’s another blog) I almost wonder if some of the things that were occurring weren’t early symptoms of this epilepsy. (I started to read a lot of Sylvia Plath during this time and I could relate to a lot of the feelings she had and I really thought I was just “going mad” and wanted to fix it.)

In the two years that I actually spent under many different doctors’ care and trying different anti seizure medications after my first “known” seizure at 25 I still couldn’t get a positive answer as to what they believed to be causing these seizures in the first place.

Some were saying I had some “slight abnormality on my temporal lobe that could be a possible mini stroke”. (I believe that I did have this mini stroke just because of symptoms that occurred and the timing of MRIs when they found it.) However, as to it being the cause of the migraines which (some doctors believe) is the cause of the epilepsy no one was absolutely SURE when they said ANYTHING about it. It was always “possible” and “we think”. (So perhaps I shouldn’t have used the word “belief”…but you get the picture.)

So, yeah as to the cause of any epilepsy in the first place, medical and neuro-science seems to know how seizures occur they just aren’t sure WHY so much to call it epilepsy. (Kids can have seizures due to high fevers…other conditions can cause seizures…it’s the frequency and the type that constitute it as being epilepsy. I can’t quote this but based on what I’ve read I’m thinking that there are other things that mimic epilepsy as well…more research is required for that.)

But, back to Hypergraphia.

This doesn’t just mean “oh, I like to write” or “writing is my passion” or “I live to write”.

It’s seriously an obsessive compulsion.

(And after reading more extensively about it I’ve actually known some people who I believed truly had to deal with this and I have even dealt with it at a time in my life which I will share with you now.)

Since I was 6 years old and realized that I had the ability to come up with a good story and could write it down I knew that it was something I’d do for the rest of my life.

I was an avid reader ever since I learned how as well and I admired certain authors and wanted to be “just like them” even at a young age.

I wanted to do it for a living someday (even though my career choices could change daily…I’m a true Gemini…I’m into a lot of things as my tumblr will reflect).

I still love to write even though I have taken hiatuses that can last up to two years from really doing any “serious” writing but even during those times I would always have a journal entry here and there just talking about what’s been going on in my life.

But I didn’t have a compulsion to write it down and I definitely didn’t feel awful if I didn’t write something down. (Maybe slightly guilty at just being too lazy to get up and do it or too afraid to actually write something that could be awesome but never “having” to do it.)

However, when I had my Topamax-Trip (which if you’ve read personal blogs of mine before you have heard me mention this drug many times) I DID have seizures that I truly believe upon reflection and from what I read last night that gave me bouts of Hypergraphia.

I would seriously yell and scream if anyone tried to stop me from writing down EVERYTHING that was going on when it got really bad.

That’s usually the case in most instances of Hypergraphia. People who live with it seriously write down EVERYTHING and HAVE to.

Now, let’s think about this for a second.

A lot of creatives struggle with brain conditions such as epilepsy, bipolar disorder or other mental illnesses.

My senior project when I was in high school was ALL ABOUT the correlation between creativity and mental illnesses (the focus being depression) so I’ve always been interested in it because I believe this is something that is a huge part of me and I can relate to it.

I get very upset when people refer to my seizures as “freak outs”.

I get upset when people call people who are mentally ill “psychotic” in a derogatory way.

If you are doing ANYTHING because of a chemical imbalance or abnormality that occurs in your BRAIN that you AREN’T able to control you are not “having a freak out” you are sick and need help and support from those around you.

I cannot stress how important it is for people with any illness to have support from their family and those who call themselves friends.

This does not exclude those who are mentally ill.

So, Van Gogh wasn’t just “off his rocker”.

Poe did have an alcohol problem but because he most likely lacked support he became addicted to a vice he probably used to combat his illnesses.

(I know that alcohol helps numb my nerve pain a lot and I don’t abuse it but I know there are times when I take a shot to help me sleep.)

This is something I’m learning more about every day too.

SO many stories of drug addicts who became addicted to their pain pills because they have (or had) LEGIT pain due to an illness or injury and this NEEDS to be treated differently than someone who just fell into experimenting and it got out of control.


I CANNOT make that any bolder.

I experienced withdrawal and SO many other things on different anti seizure medications (all of which are used to treat other mental illnesses as well) when having to stop them and up their dosages or lower their dosages or WHATEVER.

I am not saying that these medications aren’t designed to help because they ARE.

However, seriously, seriously do your research on them and make sure you fully understand what they are affecting in your body.

I’m always so surprised to find out things when I actually take the time to look into them and I believe if DOCTORS did this more then patients would have a better quality of life.

Doctors need to treat PEOPLE not diseases and to know that everyBODY is different and will react differently to different things.

(This is merely a patients’ perspective but I’m also speaking for everyone I know who has experienced similar feelings.)

Back to our writers, though: What if on a milder scale writing and other creative urges (that aren’t compulsive) possibly stem from mental illnesses like research and doctors and psychologists have already started to believe is so?

This could possibly mean that you are being given a gift along with your “curse”.

A talent through all of the tumultuous traumas you have to triumph over just to live a happy life.

And that’s kinda cool if you think about it that way.

So, all I was REALLY trying to say with this is that I’m starting to really feel that my epilepsy (and whatever else could possibly be going on in my brain that they haven’t figured out yet) can have a silver lining of giving me my ability to be able to express myself in different creative ways and especially in writing.

The only thing that truly holds me back when my physical limitations aren’t preventing me from being able to work on anything artistic is me and my fear of either not being good enough or being too afraid to really dig down deep and express something in me because it might hurt me to do it.

But I’m trying to change this.

I want to be great like Poe and all of the other writers and artists who were “off their nuts”.

And I can use epilepsy to my advantage because sometimes my migrained-out mind comes up with some AWESOME things.

I just have to DO IT.

So, to all my fellow “crazies” out there (Cuz “only a crazy can call another crazy crazy”, right? ;) ) if you have some creative urge I urge YOU to act on it.

Don’t be afraid to express yourself and surrender to that because it’s something that you may be able to do so well BECAUSE of your “craziness”.

And always know that it’s ok to make light of it (like I am right now) but also important to know that you AREN’T crazy…you are sick and you can’t control it.

But on the positive side, you can do something that maybe someone who’s super healthy and athletic can’t.

You can tap into these parts of your mind and express it with the hopes of connecting to the inner human emotion to inspire others and relate to them.

That’s a beautiful thing. :)

Well, that was fun.

I hope you enjoyed this blog from “Migraine Land”.

I’m glad I allowed you into my dream this morning because I really think this blog post might reach out to other creatives or epileptics or people struggling with mental illnesses and allow them to see some rainbow through the rain.

It’s why I do what I do.

Helping you helps me.

Now, I think I should go lay back down and try to rest this off.

We’ll see how my pain holds up though because that darn kink in my shoulder’s starting to flare up again. Ugh.

I love you all.


Thank you for reading and have an awesome Monday!

Saturday, June 11, 2011

It Never Lasts Long

I'll never understand

how each smile

you put on my face

can be quickly replaced

by your harsh criticisms

and sudden cynicism

As if seeing me happy

causes you fear

What makes you more


My laughter or my tears?

You hate every single

thing that brings me joy

I often feel like a

neglected toy

I sit on your prized shelf

and feel proud of myself

Because your eyes on me

is ecstasy

But when you start speaking

it feels like you're seeking

the easiest way to make me cry

the simplest way to make me want to die

You twist my dreams into fragments of nothing

you kick me when I'm down and claim that it's loving

I am your fragile porcelain doll

When I shatter to pieces

Your hand will have caused the fall

Monday, June 6, 2011

Good Catch

I endeavor to meet with you again

It really doesn't matter when

You caught me on a hook with just one line

You weren't even fishing; just getting tangled with mine

It's what I always seem to do

I get caught up when people are too good to be true

When they aren't afraid of who they are

And share themselves no matter how bizarre

You're someone I aspire to be

And that can often mean the world to me

This sometimes makes me more delicate

And makes some words feel like they are hard to forget

But don't be put off, I'm just as you

Searching this planet for connections, too

And when we speak again someday

I won't be shy or look away

I'll muster all my courage and not appear trite

And thank you for what you gave me that night

It was a glimpse into your very soul

And I can only hope to repay in full

Sunday, June 5, 2011


This is not a test.

It's quite the emergency.

At least that's how I'M

interpreting it.



Cameras flash

like paparazzi...

(am I still the star?)

Blackness fills.

I lay still.

(“oh darling, there you are...”)

You recount in horror,

and I'm so confused.


One blink and the clock changed too soon.

How quickly evenings become afternoons.



Try to remember.

It used to be easy to just surrender.


You're a cluster of creative increments

I swear you must be heaven-sent

This was meant to be a sentiment

written hastily and with regret

that I didn't get a note from you

or a simple nod or “how do you do?”

But I'm thinking of you

I'm your dream fantasy grandeur delusion

I swear I cause mass confusion

This was meant to be a last attempt

written on these pages so unkempt

to let you know how I feel for you

or in other words: “the honest truth”

But do you feel it too?