break my heart and my soul cries for love into the desert dust
letters lie there helplessly
in a pile inside the door
I’ve tried but I just can’t
remember who they’re for
the past fades
the future hides
and time just glides
then you say America
and that makes me smile
I haven’t seen America
for such a long long while
a soul just cries
new thoughts arise
of blue skies calm seas
But you said California
and it made me smile
if I ever see California
my blue eyes will shine
and as for love
it’s much to old
a story to believe
the Pacific listens to my crying soul
every day is a new beginning, take a deep breath and start again
Yesterday I fouled up again. I wrote a post called It’s Too Bad That Love Is Blind, which was both a bit negative and quite misogynistic, and that is not the way I generally feel about the world these days. I guess I was having a bad time yesterday. You may already be aware that I have some very bad interludes in my quest to be a very cool guy living a really great life.
For years I suffered from an undiagnosed and untreated mental illness called Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) ~ which really fucks up your life. Now I have had a proper diagnosis, but have still had no treatment for this malady. To a large extent that’s OK, I can walk a long way down the road to recovery using self-directed therapy, which actually means buggering-on and doing the best I can to do things that will help me to get better. With the help of two very close friends I am much, much healthier in body, mind, and spirit than I used to be.
And wouldn’t you know that both of those very close friends are very remarkable women.
I quite firmly believe that without their help I wouldn’t be here today. Some 10% of suffers of BPD commit suicide, (which is about 1,000 times more than in the average population), but far more succumb to accidents, alcohol and drug abuse, and general ill health caused by a poor diet and bad personal care. A couple of years or so ago, before I was on the road to recovery, I managed to contract pleurisy, double pneumonia, and somewhere in there I also broke 5 ribs, (and I have no idea how that happened). I believe I would have died without the help of those remarkable women.
One of the symptoms of BPD is extreme and rapid mood swings, and in my case my emotions veer between happiness and anger, (poor labels but they’re the best I have). The extreme and uncontrollable emotions I suffer today are nowhere near as extreme and uncontrollable as they used to be, and the negative episodes are fewer and father between. Yet, sometimes there are days I am so angry I could cry, for no good reason whatsoever. I guess yesterday was one of those days.
The tears I cry are just as wet and painful as anyone else’s, and the emotions I feel are real. However, these feelings occur for no good reason except that somewhere in my childhood Borderline Personality Disorder was hard-wired into my mind.
Some say that crying is cathartic. And that there is nothing wrong with a grown man shedding a few tears. All I know is that almost unbearable mental anguish will have my crying tears of frustration. I also know that tomorrow will be a new day.
after all, tomorrow is another day
Even grown men cry sometimes. Even grown men are blue when their dreams cannot ever come true.
There are many species of dreams. Pleasant dreams, disturbing dreams, day dreams, nightmares…
Perhaps only when we accept that some dreams are just fantasies that we can find true happiness.
Paradise is a never-never land, but there is joy to be found in the real world ~ if we accept the freedom of acceptance of what is rather than wishing for the impossible. From acceptance it is just a short step to sanity and serenity.
I can accept that all the dreams I dream with you may never come true.
words and pictures by jack collier