Homeless …

Posted on June 6, 2014 | Leave a comment

is something I am familiar with.

I lived, for a few weeks, under a bridge in Atlanta.

It was at first scary, but after a few nights, I was accepted by the fire in the barrel crowd.

I stood by the fire, ate food absconded from dumpsters and wondered if I would ever get out.

I doubted, being what I considered being mentally ill, that I would.

Get out, that is.

But I did.

I did get out.

I faked normalcy in order to put a roof over my head.

Faking worked for a while, but people are, in most circumstances, not stupid.

I’m thankful that my homeless, living beneath Spaghetti Junction period, only lasted a few weeks because frankly, I was freaked out.

I considered prostituting myself to buy food, but in the end, opted for going hungry.

I thought about what my strong, self-assured, fearless sister would do, and did it.

She may not know it, but her wits combined with my stubbornness, likely saved my life.

I drifted from place to place until I found a putrid, spider-infested place to get out of the rain.

I kept a vacuum on standby for many weeks to suck up spiders, hoppy-bugs and pine roaches.

I know what it is to be nobody, nowhere with nothing other than the thoughts in my head.

I am a photographer, but only I, at the time, knew that .

I see what I see and am thankful for it .

I am who I am even when it strips me bare.

I will seek what I know to be true and find solace in that truth.

I am who I am and will be so
regardless of who or what  I am perceived to be.

I know what it means to be homeless and friendless.

I am not afraid anymore.

I am, instead, fearless; like my sister.

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Posted in afraid, alone, blog, cry, emptiness, Homeless, Spaghetti Junction, Atlanta, words, writer

Coming down …

Posted on June 6, 2014 | Leave a comment

from medication that poisoned my brain has been quite the adventure.

I specifically told my Doc that I have a hypersensitivity to medication.

“Oh, you’ll do fine” they said.

“You won’t have any problems” they said.

I knew going in that it was risky because, let’s be real here, I’ve been on meds in the past and I went off the deep end then, too.

But to stop the sleepwalking, sleeptexting, sleepcooking, sleepdriving … the list goes on but what would the point be … I went with it.

Big mistake.

I lost entire pieces of my memory, some of which have still not been fully recovered.

It stopped the sleep-stuff and controlled my mania by making me a hollowed out shell without emotions.

WTH?

I spent 48 hours simply trying to remember my niece’s name.

Friends have marked me off their list and I don’t blame them.

Well, actually, I do blame them. 

They’ve known me forever and should have realized something was up.

Mayhaps they weren’t the friends I thought they were.

That, at this point, is neither here nor there.

What’s done is done.

Needless to say, in the near future, I may be sleep-stuffing, totally manic and my own weird self again, but it beats losing pieces of myself that define me.

Meds work excellently for some, but to me, they are poison.

Always have been and I take responsibility for giving in.

Never again.

I learned this lesson years ago and it sucks that I had the “maybe this time” mentality and had to learn it all over again.

Good grief.

Good effing grief.

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Posted in manic, mental illness, sleepwalking, Time, what was I thinking, words, writer

Beauty in Silence … a poem

Posted on June 4, 2014 | Leave a comment

Thoughts about thoughts 
the night so long, so dark and dense
quiet in the purest sense
with nothing to dwell on but past tense
Energy used for naught

A day that turns into two then three
An end to that one cannot see
Happens only occasionally
But hurts me just the same

There are no words that can describe
The speed with which the thoughts collide
Before one ends another one slides
Into my faltering mind.

But on the morrow as a new day dawns
And the sunrise, still sleepy, yawns
I know that I am but a pawn
In the game that is known as life.

I don’t consider it a game
With each level more of the same
A wayward thought I cannot tame
This thing that is my life.

But all things, good or bad, must end
And trying diligently to rescind
Words once said in delirium
Cannot be unsaid.

Thoughts unbidden fill my head
When silence is preferred instead
But silence, to me, is all but dead
And yet the beauty lasts.
©Gina Minton Kearns

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Posted in bipolar, Life, mental illness, poem, poetry, words, writer

An abyss …

Posted on June 1, 2014 | Leave a comment

is an empty, echoing place.

No longer occupied by friends.

Silence where noise would be welcome.

Apart.

Separated.

Blame.

Fault.

Loss.

Tears.

Abyss.

An empty, echoing place.

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Posted in friends, from my heart, poetry, words, writer

At home ..

Posted on May 28, 2014 | Leave a comment

I walked in, uninvited, as I always do. 

It never occurred to me to knock on my parents’ door.

It is just, well, home.

When I didn’t catch a glimpse of my mom in the kitchen, I called out Hello? Anybody home?

My voice echoed slightly in the emptiness and it startled me, deep within my heart; in a hidden place I never visit.

I walked, knowing I was alone, from room to room.

The Grandfather clock tolled half past the hour.

For which hour it tolled, I can’t be sure.

I looked out the window toward the pond and mountains.

I could see how much of my mom and dad would be lost.

Gone.

Irrevocably changing everything.

The tick-tick-ticking of a clock became louder and inexplicably, Poe’s “Tell Tale Heart” flashed into my thoughts.

Odd, I thought.

I didn’t doubt that they were fine; yet still I felt a shiver.

The oppressive silence.

The unanswered echoes.

The emptiness.

If they don’t outlive me, I will miss my parents when they are gone.

Have I thought of it before?

Mayhaps.

But it only occurred to me today.

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Posted in dad, emotions, emptiness, Life, life experiences, Mom, poetry, words, writer

Spinning Circles…

Posted on May 25, 2014 | Leave a comment

under cover of darkness in daisies growing randomly through the tall meadow grass.

I feel unstoppable; I hear the joy of my own laughter.

A stunning evening sky blossoms above me, twinkling.

The moon echoes my laughter.

The wind sings a night song.

I twinkle and laugh and sing with them.

The fireflies are back.

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Posted in blog, fireflies, Life, poetry, through the eyes of the spirit, Time, words, writer

I watch …

Posted on May 23, 2014 | Leave a comment

as the sun spectacularly and rather regally, sat behind ominous clouds while casting brilliant light across an unsuspecting sky.

This is my solace.

I did not photograph it for that is, right now, beyond me.

I look for that part of my mind that hoards rational thought, that part that keeps one foot on the road even when the road is broken.

I no longer know, precicely, who I am.

I am gullible.   Now, then and likely always..

I was struggling to separate reality from fantasy and now I find myself simply trying to tread through unfamiliar water.

The sunset and following moon and stars will, this night, be my comfort.

At least until the fireflies come.

I feel lost and misunderstood.

I don’t expect to feel differently tomorrow, but I am tougher than I look.

I could give up, but that is a coward’s way.

Tomorrow might be different, and if not, mayhaps the day after.

I am beaten, bruised and bleeding; but I’m not broken.

And soon, the fireflies will come.

I await the arrival of fireflies, or as referred to in the South, lightning bugs.

Either way, they will save me.

I await them.

This is a watrebug, not a firefly. Hoping for points for not being an imbecile.

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Posted in being myself, blog, creation, mental illness, nature, Nature Photographer, poetry, words, writer

In a looking glass …

Posted on May 21, 2014 | Leave a comment

the reflection that looks back does so as though nothing has changed.

As though there is no darkness behind familiar eyes.

As though there is no unfamiliarity in the mundane sameness that take morning into night and back into morning.

The sameness is likely still there, but my perception has skewed it; distorted the memories, played the ultimate trick.

Finding my way was simpler before I lost it.

Mayhaps I will find it again, but if not, if it is gone, how will I ever really know?

The irony of a broken mind.

The photograph below has my copyright, so I know I was there … I just don’t know where there is.

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Posted in afraid, alone, being human, being myself, blog, broken, memories, poetry, words, writer

Life …

Posted on May 20, 2014 | Leave a comment

unfurls as it does and time is irrelevant.

It is full of many things.

Joy.

Sorrow.

Disappointment.

Happiness.

Melancholy.

There is no end to the myriad of feelings and emotions that make up the fabric of our lives.

Me, we, all of us want to belong to something, to someone.

Just to belong.

The important thing is to not lose who we are when we try to belong to that which we dont.

A square peg in a round hole.

I would prefer to know I have been true to myself than to find I had sacrificed myself, my thoughts and my feelings for nothing special.

Life unfolds in its own time.

I’m inclined to be patient while it does.

I would rather march alone to my own drummer than to give up the sticks simply to be accepted.

Nature, in all her beauty, would agree, for not one leaf nor wildflower would give up their magnificence for acceptance.

And so, I think, I shall aspire to think as a wildflower; and knowing, that though different I am, in The Creator’s eyes, beautiful.

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Posted in blog, creation, faith, from my heart, Life, life experiences, nature, peace, poetry, Time, wildflowers, words, worship

Of all the dreams I dream …

Posted on May 20, 2014 | Leave a comment

I expected you to be in at least one.

Nearly five years you’ve been gone and never once did you consider slipping in, saying hello, smiling?

Ok, maybe smiling is asking too much.

You weren’t much of a smiler, but damn, you could cook.

I still remember your face, though the last time I saw it was in death.

I really thought you might visit, but being as I am, perhaps it’s just as well you didn’t.

Your birthday is coming up.

I should come sit by your grave; but I won’t.

It wouldn’t matter to you either way.

It never did.

You told me once that nobody really cared about my thoughts, dreams, words and feelings.

I didn’t believe you then.

Now, I wonder.

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Posted in being human, being myself, blog, death, dreams, emotion, feelings, words, writer