Let's Be Honest

I've had so much emptiness for so long, it shouldn't hurt anymore.

I wrote that in my journal yesterday. You see, I've been described as honest. Honest to a fault. But that's not the truth. Because if I was so honest, honest to a fault, I would lash out when my heart feels broken, with my true feelings of sadness instead of with words meant to destroy and inflict pain. I wouldn't jab with my sharpened tongue to make sure you feel more pain than I can bear alone. I would tell someone my feelings are hurt instead abusing them with words meant to hurt because I feel weak with vulnerability. I would tell people I need them instead of barking that I can walk this world alone. I would say that I feel empty inside because I'm the one that scooped everything out that made me feel raw and threw it away. I would say I'm lonely because I'm so sure that you are going to leave, that the concept of you sticking around forever, is one I can't compute because in my mind nothing lasts forever therefore let me sabotage so I can prove how honest my brain is with me and a heart is for the weak and vulnerable.

I have spent so much of life trying not to feel anything, that I'm responsible for the most damage. I have to accept the most blame. I have to point the finger at myself every day in the mirror. I'm hell bent on not feeling, that I can't admit I feel too much and I don't know how to process it. That I'm the one with feelings of inadequacies therefore you are inadequate. You see, I'm not honest with anyone, including myself, because I lie every single day about how I really feel.

If I'm to be honest, to a fault, I feel sad. I feel guilt. I feel remorse. I feel lost. I feel alone. That I feel exhausted being acquainted with myself. I'm the one I'm so angry with. I wonder if I had been this honest person I claim to be and had told someone how much I needed them, and loved them and appreciated them if we'd still be together? And if not, would I at least only have to deal with the hurt instead of the regret and guilt of things said that can never be unsaid? Would I still have a few of the friends I use to have? Would my family have had to forgive me less times than they've had to? 

I am trying so hard to be a better person. Like John tells me, be a better person today than you were yesterday. So I'm starting with truly being honest. I do want someone to grow old with. I do want to be loved. I do get lonely. I do need friends. I do long for acceptance, especially from myself. I am afraid of dying with more regrets than amazing memories. My feelings do get hurt.

 I love to write. I love poetry and art. I love to game. I love laughing with my buddies in the evening while we're gaming until I can't breathe. I love coffee with my mom. I love trips to Wichita to see my kiddos/little man. I love deep conversations on the porch with John and Ape. I love that Alex calls me to vent or for advice. I love that someone trusted me enough to help them through a rough night. I love the time I had with someone and all the good memories we had while we were together.

You see, I need to learn that just because things don't work out the way I wanted, doesn't mean I can't love the things that did during that time. I can be honest that every day isn't filled with rainbows and unicorns but some days are and they are truly magical. Some days are filled with tears but the ones that are filled with laughter recharge my soul. It's easy to go through a rough patch and convince yourself that everything always has been and always will be complete and utter shit but that's not the truth. My good days, my great days, far surpass my bad ones. It's ok to be honest with myself about that as well.

So my goal is to truly be that honest guy. Honest to a fault. To not only tell those around me that I love them and need them but to learn to love and need myself as well. There are some things that are never going to be and that's ok. There are some things I'm never going to be able to take back or unsay and though that was not ok for me to do some of the things I've done, I can work on never doing those things again. I can learn to forgive myself, ask for forgiveness, ask for help, be vulnerable, be a good friend, be a good partner if there's one in my future, be a good dad, son, brother. 

Last of all, I can be good to myself. That's not going to be easy. I'm going to fail from time to time. But that's ok too because I'm just trying to be a better person today than I was yesterday.

Thank you for letting me be honest with you.

I'm not bipolar-I have bipolar

Ryan M Sullivan

Between You and I

Do it says the voice

While arguing with common sense

I'm tired of giving piggyback rides

To the fake and unattached

The whispering, faceless ones

That didn't have my best

Interests at heart

But truly try their hardest

Smile mother fucker

So they don't know

Make them laugh

Just so I remember

What an honest one

Sounds like

You wait until you is home

Before you shows up

Did you know

I want to die sometimes

Or do you even care?

Too concerned with whispering

In my ear about death

To realize

Maybe I want

To live

You make it hard

To differentiate

Between what's real

And what's really real

Because sometimes 

I don't know anymore

And that's what

You've always wanted

Separate

Tear

Blend

Lie

Sustain

Kill

Breathe

Continue

Try as you might

To tear this skin open

Somehow I'm quicker

With the stitches

But the

Real question

Is

For how long?

Who will be

The winner

And who is

The real

Loser

I know your heart

Isn't in the right

Place

Win at all costs

Is beginning

To be

Your motto

Instead of mine

With the stakes

Being nothing more

Than my life

My life 

Is nothing more

To you than

A bounty

One to be added

To a list

Maybe someone will

Mourn

You've never cared

What I've thought

You've kept it all

Between you and me

Never caring

About the damage

As long as

You're heard

Remember when

You told me

To kill myself?

I think just

For fun

Because I'm 

Only

A game

I'm not sure

I know how 

To accept advice

From anyone

But you

Anymore

It's time

     The

          End

This poem is about arguing with a voice only I can hear. The back and forth. The endless games being played by one of me against me. It's exhausting and hopefully I was able to transfer that to this piece.

Thank you for reading.

I'm not bipolar-I have bipolar

Ryan M Sullivan

A Thank You to Blue October

 This blog has been a long time in the making. I have to admit I've avoided it because it makes me emotional and thinking about the past can be painful. Thinking of all the horrible things I've done, said and thought, when being honest with myself, can be defeating but it doesn't have to be. I have been put here for a reason and I may not always know that reason but I intend to make the most of it.

The song that slapped me in the face all those years ago was, of course, Hate Me. I'm in the middle of raging alcoholism, a marriage I'm taking for granted and kids that are probably traumatized and embarrassed of their dad that's a hard-working drunk. "The one thing that always tore us apart is the one thing I won't touch again" damn I said that so many times.  I was really good at broken promises. I think that song spoke to me so profoundly because I wanted, needed, everyone to hate me because that was something I understood. God I hated myself. So "Hate me today. Hate me tomorrow. Hate me for all the things I didn't do for you. Hate me in ways, yeah, ways hard to swallow. Hate me so you can finally see what's good for you" I had a new addiction and that was Blue October.

Now I have to admit, after listening to song after song, I was wondering if it's possible to copyright my brain because I swore Justin was listening to my thoughts and writing songs about them. That is how close I related with his music. I felt like he was singing my story. He knew my pain, my fears-my sadness. He understood what it's like to laugh on the outside while screaming on the inside. To appear full of life while wishing I was dead. I had searched in all the wrong places for answers and I swore they were at the bottom of a bottle so I was determined to drink until I found the one with all of the solutions. I'm not saying it doesn't exist but I say the same thing about unicorns as well.

I remember many drunken nights, listening to Blue October, feeling his pain while trying to figure out how to end mine. I wanted it all to go away. I wanted to die. I had done the testing of water type things-cutting, self-harm, completely reckless behavior hoping that would do it but I had never really really attempted suicide. Until I did. I remember being at such peace with it. It was like being in a fog as I drove to the grocery store and bought all the sleeping pills they had. Next stop was the liquor store. I remember spinning the top off of a whisky bottle with one hand while swallowing pills with the other. As I wrote the note that never would've been good enough to explain why I did what I did, I remember them kicking in and I cried. Not because I regretted my decision but because I had finally found the strength to go thru with it. I woke up puking. And I was angrier than I ever have been in my life. I was so bad of a screw-up I couldn't even kill myself.

I've told an extremely limited amount of people about that night. A verse in Black Orchid "Maybe life isn't for everyone" was what I really believed. I believed I was put here by mistake and I was going to fix it. I hear "how selfish" and "how could they do that to us" amongst many many other exclamations against something they can't possibly understand. At that point, I felt the most unselfish thing I could do for those I loved was no longer be here. I felt the only way I could make the pain go away was to die. The only forgiveness there was for my countless sins was to go away so I could ensure, in the only way I felt was possible, never to hurt anyone ever again. 

Why am I telling my story in this way? It's a simple answer really. Stigma. I have fought for not being embarrassed of who I am and that includes the bad parts of Ryan. I'm a ball of bipolar, mental illness, hurts, regrets, anger, guilt and countless other things that luckily include-a hell of a sense of humor, laughter, great friends and family just to name a limited few of all the good parts and things I have. It saddens me that we lose men and women to suicide multiple times a day. Please talk to someone if you are to that point. Please ask for help. 

I think of all the things I would've missed out on. I think of all the things those I love would've missed out on. Saturday morning coffee with my mom. Being a grandpa. Being a dad. Being a brother. Being a brother-in-law. My point in all of this is that moment in time seems insurmountable. Seems impossible. Seems the only answer to a lifetime of questions. It isn't. It really really isn't. I promise you it isn't. 

Call someone. Call anyone. Call the Suicide Hotline (988) I'm begging you. I think back to that night multiple times a week. I think about the ones I know that succeeded and I watch their loved ones left in a constant questioning of where they went wrong. What could they possibly have done to change the outcome. I can only tell you my perspective but I'm thankful I didn't succeed. I am thankful I finally started talking about it. You are not alone. By calling 988 you'll find out just how not alone you really are. I promise.

Now go and listen to "Fear" by Blue October. 

I'm not bipolar-I have bipolar.

Ryan M Sullivan

Mind Full (Poetry)

Mind full

I write

And

More

Takes it’s 

Place

Knee bouncing

Brain

Throbbing 

Downplay

The

Amount of

Feelings

I’m fine

Can’t seem

To make

The

Reality of

The situation 

Disappear

No matter

How many 

Versions of

The story

I play

I

Convince

You

But somebody 

Please

Convince me

Let me

Obsess

Over this

As

Well

Pretty

Please

Why

Is the

Question that’s 

My

Constant

Hold my

Sanity

While

I display

The insanity

Of

The

Situation

Why did

I live

Why did

Others

Die 

How could

I have

Done 

Things

Differently 

Why am

I

Asking

Angry

So

I should

Punish you

For the

Crimes

I’ve committed

So I 

Have one

More

Notch 

Of

Guilt

If I obsess

Then I can

Change

The past

Bleed it

Out onto

Paper

So

That

Time

Ceases

Along with

My crimes

Instead

Stuck

Doomed to

Relive

Over and over

So that

The cuts

Never 

Scab

Leaving

The

Past

To bleed

I love

The way

You hate

Me

I scream

At the

Man in

The mirror

As he

Looks

Back

With

Approval

Glass

Shatters

So I

Know

Which

Me

Is real

Confused

On which

Side

I

Was

Standing

I still

See me

In the

Fragments 

Realizing

I’ll always

Be both 

That bipolar

Means two

Ryan’s 

A hand

Constantly on

The other’s throat

Who is 

The winner

With the

Loser

Easier to

Crown

Switching

Places

Daily

With the

Hour hand

Always ready

To strike

Straight jacket 

Can’t be

Seen

But still

Binds

Just as

Tight

Banging

Head

Hoping

To bleed

It all

Away

Medicine 

Maintains

But doesn’t 

Fix

No cure

They say

Heartfelt 

Sympathy 

Goes a

Long way

To a 

Place

Called nowhere 

Anger 

Steams

From pores

With no

Resolution 

Which

In

Turn

Causes

Anger

The 

Dreaded 

Constant

Endless

Cycle

Swallow

Glass

So I

Answer

With kindness

Slam pills

Before

Mind

Is changed

Steps

In baby

Form in

The right direction

I draw 

My

Paintings

Of pain

With

Words

Broad

Strokes

To

Cover

Every

Inch

Of canvas

Hoping for

Change

Skin

Silent

With brain

Tagging along

Striving

For what

I

Interpret 

Normal

To

Be

So I’ll 

Sit

Watching

Skin

Ripple

While pills

Hit

Bottom

Hoping

Needing

That today

Is that

Day

Still Alive

I look back
Hate what i see
Why am i alive?
What purpose
Do i serve?
Questions
To the point
Of insanity
Or did i have
To be
Sane
In the first place?

Questions
Answer my
Questions
Rationalize
My emotions
With guilt
And shame
A mixture
Better mixed
With red
And
Red
Alone

I want my
Physical pain
To match
My emotions
And then feel
It all
Pour
To an
End
So tired
Of being
This
Tired

I'm writing
So I'm
Living
Still breathing
Still fighting
Exhausted
To the point
Of being
Void
Of emotions
But
Still
Alive

Being bipolar isn't always an every day struggle but when it is it's exhausting. This poem was written during one of my lows. It shows the emotions felt behind the battle with myself. The battle of wanting everything to be gone but still sticking around. Needing to stick around.

Suicide is a touchy subject. It makes people uncomfortable. It offends, it hurts, it angers, it seems irrational. But what you forget is I'm describing emotions felt by those not contemplating or following thru with suicide.

I'm not in a bad place but it's time we talked about suicide. Let's get uncomfortable because like it or not it's real and it's not going away even if we ignore it. I personally have contemplated and attempted suicide. Is that hard to say? Absolutely. My family, my kids, my girlfriend, my friends all read this. People I've never met read this.

What isn't uncomfortable is I'm a survivor and as a survivor i believe it is my duty to help and talk about it and make it real and spread a message of hope. I hope if you're reading this and are thinking it's not worth sticking around, give it another day. I'm not being condescending I'm just telling you what i tell myself now. One more day. Then repeat if necessary.

I encourage all of us to be more understanding and compassionate. I encourage all of us being that ear that listens or that shoulder to cry on. I encourage all of us to get educated on the subject because it isn't going away and you never know who it may affect in your life including yourself no matter how improbable that seems today. Reach out, get out of your comfort zone and love. Let's get rid of stigma.

If you're struggling please reach out to someone because I'd like to see you give it one more day. Call, text, email someone- whatever it takes to see tomorrow.

I'm not bipolar-I have bipolar
R. M. Sully