To Be Insane or Not To Be…….. That is the question

I am an accomplice to murder. My whole family is on the secret but they prefer it to be that way. At first I thought I was doing a good deed. So I helped in sacrificing my insanity over sanity, my madness, my passion over tranquility of my mind and my family’s. In doing so I sacrificed my I, my me, Iris, my life. Yes, I have been poisoning my beloved Muse one day at a time, one pill at a time. Oh, it is very legal. But is it moral?
You see, I am not considered normal, though I thought and think I was normal. I was or still am part of The Dead Poets Society, where I wrote what I wanted to write and did what I wanted to do, defying society’s molding of its citizens.
Normal mood waves, just like the tides of the sea are not flat, they are wavy. One day you may be happy and the next day a little melancholy. Well, “That is normal”, you might think. But my thermostat, my regulator broke on me, so my brain waves, or better yet, my mood ways are really mood swings. My line is not wavy; it just goes way up too high or too low. Oh how I loved my highs which were quite fun for me and for my kids. I was the fun mom and the fun aunt. And what a passion I had. My mind was at its peak where words would whirl and twirl at a fast pace and I was quick enough to catch each and everyone of them and splash them out unto paper wet with ink. But in this manic state I could become dangerous to my own self. I really would think I was a goddess and I would physically fight the world if I thought it necessary. That’s when I would have to take sedatives or I would literally burn out. I also loved the lows; where I would not want to be with anybody and I would cry in a little corner until I would tire myself to sleep. Ah, sleep, my coping out of this world. When I would awake, it would all start again but my crying was not of self pity, it just came from my soul, tormented by clouds yet I dwelled in them until a ray of light took pity of me, slid in and carried me out of the abyss. As I slowly came out of my depression words would come back again, but words that described the feelings my soul had experienced when in solitude and silence. Those words came slower, but deeper; a reflection of where I had been. And that is when I find I wrote my finest. Poe was editing my every word.
Now the words don’t twirl and whirl around my head, they just fly and run like playing “catch me if you can”. My head literally hurts trying to grasp words, to make them stay still long enough to do so. Believe me, in order to be able to write this mumble jumble which only might make sense only to myself, I had to take two tranquilizers and painkillers. Soon, I will go to slumber land again, but not without saying that Iris is still battling her battle to stay alive. She and her Muse. We have not quit on Dead Poets Society.
I know my poison by its name, Lamictal and Wellbutrin. Finally a middle, a balance state of mind. I would rather say, though, a flat line for I feel like the walking dead without my words. No passion, no umph. My brother told me “Well, as my doctor told me, “Choose your poison”, and so I have taken my poison. On my last visit to my doctor I literally accused my psychiatrist of Murder.
He looked at me with a frown and said “Ha?" “You stand accused of murdering my Muse and I as your accomplice have been giving it your poison!”I bravely told him. After thinking it over, he nodded his head and admitted that the medication will do that to a lot of people. He admited his deed. Now where is the jury, where is the judge?

I prefer my madness: yes, to be sad and to be happy all at once as long as I am able to smudge my hands in ink. . I am Bipolar and always will be, but the poison is settling in. I am much quieter, you might notice. Now I just sit and ponder. Was I really a poet with a muse or just a woman with a madness that was creative?

I don’t know, I don’t have the answers and don’t think much about the future anymore, I just relish the glory of the past.


Arco Iris  R

Joined May 2009

  • Artist
  • Artwork Comments 16

Artist's Description

My meek, feeble attempt to give one more shot at writing. This may be a rambling or a musing, but though all of this is true, I just hoped it would blend in with creative writing.
P.S. . For those who know me, they know that this is not my asking for pity for I have accepted the condition And I am working with it. Being Bi Polar has made me what I am today; stronger. If I don’t speak, it would mean that I don’t accept it and I would be fooling myself that it isn’t there. By speaking I am saying I have it, it is me, I have accepted myself I feel free for it. And I will find my words soon. I thank each and everyone of you who have walked with me through out the years.

Artwork Comments

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