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Stay Regular: Writing Is My Best Therapy!

Quick Tip: Stay Regular:  An entry for wordpress.com regarding a topic, “A healthy blog is like a healthy colon; if you put crap in, you’ll get crap out.”

corporateHow come they were able to make it?  How were the big hitters able to dash through all the way?  How were they able to get up there and stay right there?  When and how did they start?  Who are they all and how many are they out there?

The park is my fastest getaway at night when everyone’s heading home but at daylight, if I get there early, I rush to a nearby bookstore and browse on any book or article about writing.  It’s what I do best.  I’ve been writing ever since I was in high school.  My twin sister started it and now I’m living what we used to be doing together.  I always love writing and I know I’ll never get tired of it so I’m helping myself out.  I wanna learn more about this field and what other methodologies I need to learn and adapt.  I also browse on stories about young writers especially the big ones.  They’re stories behind writing amaze me.  I look up to them and wanna become one of them.  I really love doing this for this is the task that’s closest to my heart.  It’s never taking endless calls everyday, managing people from time to time, nor helping young individuals learn fundamentals of knowledge — it’s writing!  My heart keeps shouting it at all corners waiting to burst.

Despite that, I cannot deny that it also adds up to my depression for lately, I’ve been craving for it; that I didn’t wanna do anything else anymore but just keep writing.  Even my daily routines were lately affected by my obsession.  Everyday I think about it as everyday, I write.  I never stop writing as I never stop thinking.  How come the big ones were able to make it?  How come they were able to pass through all circumstances?  Is it because they’re normal while I’m not?  Though I’m a Bipolar and I do have extreme mood swings, my writing hobby is never affected.  Actually, I can even write more at times I’m depressed for this is my refuge.  This is my comfort zone.  In writing is where I’m safe.  I can runaway from the world and live in my imagination.  I’m more on imagining things.  I’m more on story telling.  I’m more on description for these things are what I’m usually repressed from.  At times the world just hits me all at once, I run to my fantasy.  I run through my never-ending aisle of imagination.  I’ve even created myself high walls where no one could reach me and hurt me at times I’m so alone.  I’ve even built a castle for my late twin sister whom I used to write together with so she could stay and rest in my heart forever.  I’m so good at imagining things.  I’m good in thinking.  I’m good in planning and believing but I’m not in putting them into action.  I’m not good in realizing dreams.  My real life even sucks for all my undying emotions just surface even now making me depressed and lost focus and will to live my life.  But at times all this happens, I come back to writing and there, I become whole again and as I’ve said, my writing is never affected by my real issues.  They boost up instead.  Wherever I am, whatever I’m doing, as soon as life hits me down the cracks, I let my mind drift and create tiny little pictures until they formulate a story.  Once a story enters my mind, I start writing them and my life continues as my depression goes off.

At times I’m depressed and all undying emotions surface from within, my unquiet mind keeps on twirling and twirling like it’s going around in circles going nowhere fast.  Yet, everytime it does that, the only time I’m able to understand these emotions is when I put them into writing.  Everytime I write them, I’m able to determine each feeling that surface one by one and understand how each of them cause me gravitational pull all coming from a certain spot in my heart that runs through in fast circles like whirlpools until they knock me off the shelf driving me off so crazy.  My mind gets captured as my mind thinks all by itself that I can hardly control it.  Yet, instead of repeating what I used to do at times I get depressed where I welcome the thoughts of running my life off the cliff to end everything up, I write instead.  This is my best therapy and I just lately realized that.  All this time, it’s just lately I’ve come to understand that depression can still be won over by doing what I love doing and that’s writing it down for I can very well express myself in writing more than conversing. This is what I’ve been doing for two weeks now and as my close friends observed that I’m getting better.

I should have realized this long ago.  I should have realized this early this year for last month, my depression was severely serious for negative thoughts really entered my mind so fast and easily won me over most of the nights as undying emotions surfaced five to seven times a day and each time they surface, they stay long for an hour to three.  There was even a week when I was seriously depressed from the time I woke up in the morning until the time I was about to go to bed.  I did nothing but kept on crying feeling sorry for myself that I was still alive and that I still woke up.  I kept on hating my mornings for everytime I woke up and open my eyes, a strong undeniable thought quickly entered my mind, whispering, “Oh shit, why am I still alive?”

That was scary.  That was seriously scary.  This time, I’m not gonna let myself keep circling the drain anymore.  I’m all tired of being depressed.  Now that I’m able to find my way out.  Now that I was able to discover my quickest getaway from this avenue, I don’t wanna stay right down there forever.

I’m slowly healing now and at the same time, starting to realize the worth of living.  Well, thanks to my happy pill alternative which is writing, I was able to find my way toward my inner peace.  I was able to find my best way of driving my depression off in an effortless way.  Well, the source is still uncertain though yet, I don’t care.  Not for now.  I’m not on this ground to figure it out.  All I know is that, it’s really in deed helping me out and I just never thought writing is my obsession ever since that turned out to be a very good hobby.

 
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Posted by on February 23, 2013 in The Avenue

 

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Weekly Writing Challenge: Characters

I’ve been through a lot in life that molded me into this person I have become.  Part of me turned all good while another part turned swayed and lost.  More likely my emotions for a lot happened in the past that had built me up emotions really unecessary and would contribute nothing but all waste and empty boxes in my life.  These emotions I don’t have any control of and I can hardly run away from.  These are the emotions of a Bipolar.  Yes, I am one and I’m no longer scared of facing it.  There are times though when it eats me in half and consumes me yet, I’m forcing myself to live my life one day at a time.

Today, I’m writing for the most wonderful person in my life who contributed so much on how to live my life and how to become a better person.  This person took me for who I really am and not for whom she wished I was nor for what she could benefit out of me.  This person plays a very important role in my life with all her beautiful and unique way of showing me her love, inner soul and intentions.  This person never got tired of me and I know in the end, when all has gone and all that’s left is just me and my broken hands, she’s gonna be there to pick me up and lend me hers.

Mama and IThis beautiful person is my mother, Mrs. Teresita “Tessie” Deveraturda-Pil, who gave me life and brought me all the beauty in the world.  She’s been my bestfriend, teacher, nurse and adviser for ever since my life in this big city started, she’s been very supportive and never missed any of my ups and downs, accomplishments and downfall, and all my normal days and my manic-depressive episodes.  Even way before it all started, she’s already there and even now and I do know that even after it all ends, she’s still gonna be there for me.  At times, I cry in resentment and denial for what life brought me, she’s always got this unique way of reaching out to me delivering her ever sweet motherly words, “I’m always here for you my little girl!” though she’s not actually saying it at all.  She’s got this unique way of beng there for me at times I need her the most though she’s actually miles away.  She’s always got this unique way of waking my inner will to live my life and convince me not to jump off the cliff at times I’m at the bayside al wet and crying all alone in the middle of the night as rain pours down the whole city ready to end my life for it brings me nothing but all these undying emotions and failures to live as the daughter she deserved to have.  These are the times my bipolarism hit me down the cracks grinding me with all my undying emotions and unquiet mind.  Though she’s not physically there with me, she really never got tired of winning me back like she’s really there with me, pulling me back to the ground and holding me tightly crying and saying, “Just come back home to me for I dearly need you, my dear daughter!”  She’s always wanted to come over to be here for me it’s just that, both of us just cannot afford it.

MamaI know her struggle everyday and everytime she hears that I’m having my episodes again and I’ve always wanted to heal and change and become a better daughter for she doesn’t deserve this but I just can’t help it.  I can’t fight all these depressions.  It surely takes one true effort to fight it and most of the times, I just get won over.

One day, I’ll be back to the old beautiful days.  One day, I’ll be that little girl she used to hold and walk around the town all dressed in preppy clothes and red ribbons.  One day, I’ll make my mother sincerely happy and satisfied of her elderly life because I’m back whole again.  One day, I’ll be the one assisting her more than how she has assisted me on how to live my life all this time.  One day, even just for an hour or a lousy minute, one day, I’ll be a perfect daughter.  I have no idea of what tomorrow brings me.  I could die anytime.  I could die later, in a while, or tomorrow, but all I know is that, on that day, I’ll live.

This is an entry for WordPress.com Weekly Writing Challenge: Characters, “This week’s writing challenge: Tell us about a character in your life. It could be your best friend, your partner, your child, or even your third grade teacher. With as much detail as possible, make this person real for us. Tell us more than what they look like or how you met. Let us know what their laugh sounds like, or that oddball quirk that makes this person so unique.”

 
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Posted by on February 13, 2013 in The Avenue, Weekly Writing Challenge

 

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A 9-Second True-Color Crazy Emotion!

unbearable-sorrow

16.8 MILLION COLORS are visible to a human eye as twice its size make up a lie to a human brain that burns the soul to an anguish relentless darkness.  It creeps through the inside of an icy cage of a dirty mind creating whirlpools of reiterated thoughts of pain and betrayal.  It forces a person to pull out her soul and hit the cracks for the gravity is too strong where all emotions circle the drain, surfacing from within all at once making the person confused of which to feel and which not.  It’s like a razor that pierces one’s throat, igniting one’s misery as she inhales ten thousand lies that come out from another person’s losing cigarette.  It’s forever invading her placid domicile, taking turns, burning ashes, destroying her refuge, making her unstable for all emotions are now lurking out of her calm soul, making her brain turn everything out, creating racing thoughts, giving her grandiose feelings that completely oppose reality all in 9 seconds.  A struck of another person’s sharp tongue is like a strike of a sword that may gorge her flesh and sink her in her own bowl of rapid moodswing where she will drown in this obvious vast image of unbearable battle between her own two brains and her 9-second rapid moodswing.

NOW, WHO KILLED the person?  Who ripped her wounds?  Who robbed her heart? Who pierced her soul?

BREATHE before you cover me with your blanket.  Experience the smoke that you cover the air.  Feel the awkward loneliness that marked my death.  Live the loud haunting monotonous silence of my cold presence lying on the ground.  I died out of my wounded heart for all million emotions drowned me down, which was triggered out by your malicious mind.

NOW, inhale one last time before you cover me with your blanket.  Inhale ten thousand lies that you carelessly drowned me.  Now watch me dead and lifeless.  You may never realize the ugliness of the world for you were already relentlessly watching me die through the bitterness of your tongue.

A STRUCK OF another person’s sharp tongue is like a strike of a sword that may gorge her flesh and sink her in her own bowl of rapid moodswing where she will drown in this obvious vast image of unbearable battle between her own two brains and her 9-second rapid moodswing.

 
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Posted by on January 11, 2013 in The Episodes

 

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