I have so much writing that I have done in the past. Some of it good some of it not so good. BUt lately I’ve decided to type of my journal from when I was first diagnosed with bipolar disorder. First off, I’m disgusted. I’m ashamed of the way I treated my marriage. I’m ashamed of my lack of self control. I’m disturbed my my obsession with men. It’s painful to read. As depressed as I am right now, i’d live forever like this to never feel and act that way again. Mania is so dangerous. Much more so for me that depression. Moving to Florida to get me out of trouble is probably the best thing greg ever did for me. How he didn’t leave me behind is a miracle. someday he’ll read what i wrote and he’ll truly understand how horrible i was to him. I was so sick. Sicker than i’ve been since. I thank my Holy God that i got to be where i am today as unscathed as i am. As for the journals, i for some reason think they will be important to the book i’ll write some day, so i’ll push on no matter how much it hurts. Here’s one entry for you:

5/1/06

I feel like I want to touch the fire, I want to feel the burn. I want to jump off a cliff and let my wings take me through clouds. I want to dance all night at a club, sweat beading down my neck, body rocking to the bass. I want to touch flesh on flesh and feel goose bumps slowly rising to the surface. I want to swim naked on posted property, “Trespassers will be prosecuted.” I want to get in the car and drive west until I hit the coast and watch the sun rise. I want to do something wrong, something bad, unforgivable. I want to bleed to see the blood, deep crimson and flowing. I want to feel alive.