And So I Ramble

I collect thoughts in my head, and I store ideas in my mind.

I make plans for a later time, and I dream dreams of things that could be and tuck them away in my heart. I ask myself rhetorical questions that have no answer. And I think. All. The. Time.

Sometimes the room in my head becomes so crowded, and I need a release.

If I am in the dark, the thoughts become jumbled. The ideas are distorted. The only plans I make are how to get through this rough patch. There are no dreams, and the questions I ask have answers. Lies. Untruths. Distorted realities.

Sometimes in the dark, when distortions overwhelm, I need a release.

If I am manic, the thoughts come fast and furious. Quicker than I can free them. The ideas flood my mind. The plans I make are numerous and never get done. My dreams are of wealth, and sex, and weed, and leaving and being free. The questions I ask bring answers full of anger. Rage. Irritation. Selfishness.

Sometimes in the mania, when chaos rules and the noise is loud, I need a release.

When I am normal, myself, and I know who I am, the thoughts become free-flowing, like the clouds in the sky that float by above your head. My ideas are sound. And clear. And good. The plans I make are sensible and help me stay on track to get things done. My dreams are of love, and family and the greater good winning out. The questions I ask myself are reflective. Healthy. Sane.

So I write. And I talk. And I ramble doing both. I ramble when I am in the dark, trying to communicate where I am. I ramble when I am manic because every single idea and thought has to be released. My writings reflect my mental state, and there is freedom in accepting that. I write about my feelings. I write about my ideas. I write about situations I observe and defining moments of my life. Sometimes it is poetry. Sometimes it is short stories. And every time, they are rambling. Rambling thoughts from a bipolar mind.

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