After many realizations that have come to pass since my last manic episode I decided, after very little consideration to attempt a digital detox. It’s not that I am actually on Instagram, Twitter or TikTok that often but I started to realize that a lot of the content I was absorbing was beginning to become influential a bit more than I was comfortable with on my mental state. Actually to be fair, let’s say I began this detox before my last bout of mania because oddly when I’m

Not too long ago, I had a chair. How it came into my possession was unclear but let’s just say it was a free vintage find. I grew to have an attachment to this inanimate object that represented a time in my life. life when I relied upon it the most. In multiple ways it was a reflection of me. It was used, a wise old soul like myself. It was orange, much like me. But it was soft and supportive and always there. Stationary, non-judgmental and reliable. It lived outside on my pa

Freedom is such an elusive concept. For everyone, it represents something different. Freedom from worrying about money. Freedom from addiction. Freedom from societal constraints. I think for me freedom represents something different, it’s something or some constraint I’ve imposed on myself. If I were free, I wouldn’t have desire. I would be free from desire and not attached to it in a way that determines my state of feeling or mind. I wouldn’t have the desire to be understood

It takes a simple idea to take root in the mind, or at least in mine. Bipolar is the soil and the delusion quickly takes root. I heard of a place, potentially fictional but whether it’s real or not is called Clockwork Circus. There is mutual respect: follow the rules, respect them and you’re safe. You’ll return back to where you belong, safe and sound. My free will however allows me to either be obedient or defiant and curious. I need an escape, my life depends on it. The sim

Hi, my name is Kailyn and you can call me just that. I’m from around here, from a home full of kids, love and emptiness. I’m just like you, except I’m not. I don’t look like you, sound like you or think like you. I’m made of my mother, a woman brimming with love, acceptance and some loneliness and a father who feels familiar but I know nothing about but I live for his accolades. Two sisters and a brother who look up to me, hopefully for all the right reasons, one can only hop

Hi, my name is KAILYN and I’m deranged. I’m alone in a house that has echoes of people who have tongues that lie to me. Smiles but I know they despise the being that I am; rotting away in a bed full of enemies I can’t see and full of rage that has no place to run to. Who is in control? I’m so distant from myself, who- ever that is, she has no place here because I am now in control, so slide over to the passenger seat because I’m now in control of this vehicle. Of this mind. O

We meet again, in case you forgot my name is kailyn. My old familiar friend is here again. Probably and sadly enough the only configuration that feels natural to me. I swear I can see it approaching under the crack where my bedroom door meets the floor. I’m taken back to years where I swore the Grim Reaper was waiting for me, always a few feet behind waiting...waiting...waiting. He said to me, “I’m right here, always watching and...waiting.” He told me it’s where I belonged a

Hi, it’s me. Kailyn. And I’m back. Back from wherever this time. The 7/11 or my late night drive or maybe a hospital. It doesn’t really matter. My life is marked by great loves and losses, trips to Paris, houses I’ve lived in and books I’ve read. With each marker of time I come out a new person. Sometimes I’m more enlightened and others I’m stripped down to the bare skeleton and I have to start from scratch. I carry shame with me, yet at the same time don’t give a fuck about

When we met I was dipped in tragedy and wrapped in remote solace. With a cherry on top of course. Now in my brief intermission of objective perspective I find I have the same reservations. Is this where I begin? Or should I start with when? I told my daddy I loved him and he told me to go to bed. I told my mother I wish I was dead, she held her head. When grandpa died, I pinched him so hard my fingers bled. I don’t remember much from my childhood and I’m not sure I want to,

And what do I know about belonging? I asked him, the one with silver hair. I can’t look ahead so instead I look down at the carpet through gray foggy eyes. A simple subject at first, yet the more I ponder it, it seems to become convoluted beyond approach. I surmise that it’s related to a feeling of safety. When do you feel safe? A byline I also can’t speak to. So, I go forth and, in the days to come I began to think that many of the things and spaces that I belong to are ones

Sleep is an escape and waking is a requirement I can’t deny. What I thought would only last for a few weeks has consumed me for several months now. Living with bipolar has been a curse but if you can believe it, also a blessing. Yet here we are, another morning that’s just like all the others except I can’t hide beneath feather duvets or my sweatshirt and Calvin Klein men’s briefs. Today I have an engagement and I plan on showing up. However, as I look at my closet it feels l