A Small Mistake
"People That You Must Remember" by Zulu Winter
Monday, July 7, 2014 5:47 PM
I'm going to California in just four days. Three thousand miles in three days, beginning then. Thanks, Amtrak.
We were heading back from a neighboring city where I bought new art supplies. I welcomed with love in my heart the familiar sight of my town, buildings jutting from evergreen hills and the blue water tower at the very top, welcoming me home as it does every time I leave. I counted three red smokestacks and a yellow one. Brick buildings and the round office building that in my head, looks just like a giant hair roller.
The urge to write is like a phoenix, I think (I'm praying I don't sound pretentious). It dies inside me, burns up, and then comes back to life. It emerges from its charred remains.
This entry has been floating unfinished through my thoughts for several hours. I am quite itchy. I was able to sleep last night without the Seroquel and although I've never really felt such an unsatisfying and uncomfortable sleep, at least I wasn't up all night wondering where I went wrong.
There is a small mistake in the way I was written. There is a typo in my programming. As a human, I was never supposed to be perfect but I wasn't supposed to be like this, either. Somewhere inside me, bipolar disorder was born.
I'm okay with that. I wouldn't trade it for the world. I don't think I'd be the artist I am if I weren't bipolar. I also think I learned young about what's "wrong" with me, so I have time to make it work for me. I have a great memory.
In fact, four months ago, I tried to buy minecraft but my mom's old credit card hadn't been working. I still remember the exact numbers on that card, even though the memory is useless since my mom has a new card number.
I also have a photographic memory when it comes to words. I remember exactly how they're spelled.
My sister is an artist, too, but she is almost the opposite. She has ADD... memory has never been a strong thing for her.
I love my friends. Laney texted me today about being annoyed at someone for a really stupid reason. I was angry because it was really FUCKING stupid, but I talked to her about it. I now mostly understand why she's annoyed and I think I love her more.
It's funny how that works. How a person makes a mistake and you can love them for it. You first like your friends, but then you love them. It's not what they were initially like that you love the most, it's the little things and how they trust you and like you too.
I'm really itchy. Stupid fucking Seroquel. I still want love but I feel kinda ugly so I'm fine with not having it, ahah. I love where I live.
I love this town. It's run down, it's fucked up, and it has a lot of fucking cemeteries but I still love it. I relate to it. And to be honest, cemeteries are better than parks. It's a sacred place. I don't see it as morbid. I see cemeteries as quiet, happy resting places that should be enjoyed.
Alright. I have to go now. I feel kind of anxious and drawing will fix that.
The small mistake is my life. It made me who I am. I get angry and confused about being bipolar and it hurts a lot, but like I said.. if I even had a choice, I'd keep it. Creativity is my life line. Writing and art is my life line. So fuck it.
Just fuck it.
Try a new drinks recipe site