Random Night II

Great. Now I want to write. There’s gotta’ be a way to dodge writer’s block. There’s a time during the day I’m zombified unless I’m jacked up on caffeine. Man, did I have a blast in Seattle. I’ve lived there for almost, well actually, I did live there for 10 years. And, of course, yes I went to school there, and yes, I didn’t finish because I quit. I went to a private University and then after that, I went for an on-line degree to get my Master’s, didn’t finish that either because I felt like it wasn’t accredited and wanted to take a totally different major and wanted to start over with another Bachelor’s degree so I started in another College. Yes, confirmed I had Bipolar there OR it could have also been a Quarter Life Crisis. It doesn’t always have to be a brain disorder, but still, but yeah.. yeah, well… YAHWELL. And now, I’m back to square one and I’m okay with that. Without the hospitalizations or the voluntarily commitments that I made, I don’t think I would have been able to face that hurtful fact that I was a quitter. It took me long enough but it’s better to have wasted it on my twenties than to have wasted it for the whole entirety of my life. Now, I’m jacked up with caffeine again when I’m supposed to be taking a shower because it’s time to get ready for bed! It’s these damn cravings! After I ate dinner, which was another craving that I had to fix, I sat there and all of a sudden, I had a craving for Coke. Just out of the blue. I don’t even drink sodas but the craving was legitimately real. Or as they say, “The struggle is real.” That saying cracks me up. So, I sat there, blinked at my empty dish and I’m like, “Fuck, great. Just great. Now I have to get my coat on… but I’m leaving my furry slippers on. I don’t care. Keep it real, man. Keep it real.” And, off I went to the grocery store. I love going on trips there… and I was back right after. Did self check-out myself. And, I’m back.

Anyway, I don’t know why I’m even writing, what my point of writing is in the first place? I was just supposed to write about… the introduction to my first hospitalization, what it did to me and for me… the experience I’ve had when I was in a residential treatment program and the amazing people that I have come across in my life and how I want to share so many things, beautiful things, even when the world got tough. And that I’m jacked up with caffeine so it’s easier for me to flow. In the morning or during the early times of the day, it’s like… like, yeah. Just like that.

Okay, enough stalling. No more “five more minutes” or “ten more minutes”. I’m screwed if I don’t do my hair tonight and take my meds soon because we all know what happens if we don’t get our sleep, Kel! Mhmm… and I just got caught up with rest so the stress is finally kept to a minimum, so shower, wash up for bed, meds during blow drying hair so they kick in and I knock out. Wake up early, get ready for work and leave early so that I get there at the exactly the same time I would even when I leave late or on time. So lame.

And remember, don’t react, don’t respond… go beyond and RISE.


Random Night


My Honey told me that his sister said she’s glad that he’s finally picked a girlfriend that’s normal compared to the other crazy girls that he’s had in the past. I cracked up when I heard this. It made me wonder what kind of crazy girlfriends he really had but at the same time, I don’t really care because it’s the past. If they weren’t diagnosed with something and might or should be diagnosed with something then I feel bad for them because how can you infiltrate a problem with a solution when you can’t focus or define the crazy. How can they improve and grow in their lives? Bah, I don’t give a fuck. That’s on them. You can’t help a problem who won’t have the desire to help themselves, so whatever. But, I think I get it. It could be the age thing, too because I’m a few years older than them. Who knows. It could be a personality thing, but what matters now is that his sister loves me. His words. And, if she only knew the bag of nuts I carry…

I have been craving lately. And, so far, I have been successful with finding them and making them come true. Chocolate Chip Pumpkin Cookies the size of my palm from Seattle’s Pike Place Market, French Toast from Portage somewhere down town in Seattle and now I was able to do a quick run to the grocery store for some chocolate milk. But beforehand, when I had to get up, I was craving for Pho. It is so much easier to find Pho in Seattle, but I really had to get going and get my shit packed and ready for the night before since I start working again tomorrow. So… I decided to just buy some instant noodles, but the cuisine type—Thai Garlic and Thai Basil– YUM. You know, the spendy type. Three bucks, oooooo. So special.

I would write about my trip, but this blog would end up being another one thousand and something words but I don’t know how to write up to 500 or a little under a thousand because I’m so detail-oriented. Too much to say or there’s just so much shit to think about that just ends up a stream of consciousness of brain dump.

Plans for the week: catch up on laundry, vacuum the place, and clean the bathroom. Then, reflect on the past week: did not meditate for 3 days in a row and did not get to listen to motivational speeches either. I won’t beat myself up for it, but I gotta’ keep going with the 30-day and 90-day experiments and keep documenting and keep journaling/tracking on my log journal. The major project is going to be decluttering my room—everything OLD MUST GO. EVERYTHING. Sell or donate. I don’t care. Just go. And, I gotta’ find a way to have a gratitude session a day. It’s not enough to wake up and sit there for a minute and go, “Wait, before you get out of bed, find three things to be grateful for,” and then spit three things out I already said the day before and then hop out of bed. If I can do a mindful practice… and then, got it. Tea. I just recently picked up a new hobby—collecting tea sets. My very first tea set consists of a cute tray for my tea set, a cute tray for my tea bag, a cute tea cup and they all have a quote on them that says, “Keep calm and drink tea.” I bought 2 sets. One for work and one for home. Every time I make tea, I take my time and really listen to the hot water pouring into my tea cup, listen to the tingling tap of my teaspoon, then holding the tray and walking towards the table where my Mandalas are waiting for me so I can color for an hour or two. So relaxing… okay, hit my 500 mark. Been so long… I’m done writing for the night.

Got a long way to go. Nope. Not really. I actually have…



And remember. Don’t react. Don’t respond. Go beyond… and RISE.

Word Count: 708


Do you wanna’ get hospitalized? Who does? I don’t think anybody does. It’s so uncomfortable, you’re automatically homesick for anything and anyone, and you’re cold, lonely… plain sad.


But, if that’s what it takes to nurse you back to health, then why not. But, that’s the thing. If you don’t watch out and don’t listen to you body and your mind, whether you have a mental illness or not, you’re going to break down. Your body and your mind will catch with you. Stress doesn’t happen over night. It sneaks up on your like shots of tequila or like my noobie dumb ass did when I first drank tequila, I sipped that Tequila as if it was whiskey instead of downing that thing like a thirsty marathoner. *shakes head* Stress sneaks up on you and for me, it almost did but I know better now because I’ve had enough failures and mistakes to remind me as to where I’m at. I’ve come so far and worked so hard to get to where I’m at and so it wouldn’t be fair to me to compare my life, the struggles to someone who is more successful than I am. It’s the blog before this one. I sort of compared my life to someone who was very successful, or is, than I am. I could have, would have, blah blah blah, but I’m going to cut myself some slack. It’s never too late: blah, blah, blah, blah, blahtty blah blah blah. And so, I’m very grateful to have a couple of nights to chill, stay up and rebel by surfing, writing blogs and then sleeping in the morning, then waking up to ask my honey to make me so really good authentic Starbucks cawfy, and my muffin is on its way and to just start writing first thing in the morning rather than waiting in the evening. I love writing. It’s so much fun. Free-writing or stream of consciousness. Now that, I’m good at. Editing, proof-reading will come later. I don’t care anymore. I don’t care if anyone is out there listening, or anything about the future. I’m set. I know what I want and I now the ingredients for it: patience, perseverance and never ever quit again. I could have been advanced. I have the potential but my ass couldn’t just buckle down and unquit. I could use my bag of nuts as excuses, but now, I don’t really have much of an excuses because I’m finally stable, I’ve got the right cocktail mix—even though I still think that my nurse practitioner over-estimated my anti-depressant but it’s okay because I’m always feeling like, what’s next, on the go go go go go! It’s great, but I just have to use mood regulation when I get irritable when there’s nothing to do but sit and wait. It’s the waiting that pisses me off…






*inhale*…. *exhale*…


So, it’s really nice to recuperate because the past 3 days, though the week was short, it was hectic at work. Who the fuck would want to be responsible with thousands, hundreds and thousands of dollars that isn’t your money but the banks and other serious folks out there? Like, I was literally responsible for it. We have a team that work together on it and even if it wasn’t just me working on it, I don’t want to deal with money that isn’t mine and if you fuck up, the whole team is fucked, too. It was a lot of fun, but I didn’t like the high demands. Now, if I lived closer, then I wouldn’t care being there, even at 6:30am, but not matter how early I got up, the traffic would always bite me in the ass. I used to enjoy driving there, but all these people that cut me makes me want to ram my front bumper to their back bumper and tell them, “Bitch, you better pay it forward. If you don’t thank me, pay it forward, bitch.” Then there are some that I don’t mind at all because they slowly creep up with their blinker. That, I’ll make the effort because they wave right afterwards and it feels as good as donating something to Goodwill. Cut me off? Then, I’ll race you to cut you off too. Its not even that, though. I’ll go past you and get back in that lane and I don’t care if you pass me again and get a few cars a head of me, just as long as you stay the fuck away from my face. I hate that shit. No biggie. Then, I get to work and then it’s crunch time towards the end of the month because it’s crunch time. It is what it is. I’m very grateful to have a job, but amongst racists, ignorant stigmatic, stereotyping scared shitless to people with mental illness, I think the worst ones out there are brown nosing back stabbing, insecure, short girls. I can’t stand those. If you back stab me, don’t talk to me. Just don’t. It’s a done deal. I don’t care. We don’t have to be friends. Go ahead and keep talking shit, but just don’t bother talking to me and being nice to e. It’s okay. Just keep it real. I don’t know what’s worse, brown-nosing or if it’s ignorance, but if you’re brown nosing in front of your co-workers, it kinda’ shows how thick-skinned you are about it and inconsiderate you are compared to someone who is ignorant and unkowledgable or misinformed about mental illness or different cultures, do you know what I mean? So, I had to deal with that. And I had to deal with not having a lunch break. We could have an hour lunch break. That was AWESOME. Free parking. Another AWESOME. But, I really had to get it in because it was very stressful during the end of the month. So, here’s the part where I’m telling you that, if you don’t watch out, you could end up in the hospital. You have to always, in every moment—I don’t think second—I think, in every breath you take, you must be very mindful and tell yourself, “are you okay? How are you? Energy level? Hungry? Sleep? How much? Eat?” The basics. I always ask the basics. Did you poop? Anything that leads to discomfort. That’s really important because it affects your mood!! If these interruptions affect you, then it’ll affect your productivity and will just affect your stress even more! So, I skipped breakfast on Wednesday, didn’t have lunch because I forgot to bring my tv dinner (I know, I’m still working on that), so I just had our left-over bagels (yummy though) and then coffee. I got the work done but I also didn’t get my average 8-9 hours of sleep which is important to have… SLEEP is everything. Especially if you’ve been an insomniac for most of your existence. So, I knew what I was getting into and what I did. So, I am very grateful that I am now in bed, with my laptop, pouring my brain and dumping my thoughts into free-writing. I feel better. I’m getting stronger. I’ve eaten, pooped, slept well these past couple of nights/days, so… just becareful… and be thankful that there are mistakes and failures… for without them, we’re FUCKED. We’re back in the uncomfortable, sad, hospital… there is comfort there. Even though it’s cold, bright… the nurses, the medication, the meals, the support group…. Those are all helpful… but you gotta’ leave the coup eventually. You know? But, more on that some other time. For now, sleep, eat, water, poop, and be kind to yourself when it’s the time of the month. AND, don’t forget to meditate at least 5 minutes a day. Paint. Sing. Write… if you are who you say you are. Then, DO. BE. YOU.


No react. No response… Rise from within. RISE.


Unedited free write session

Word count: 1,330

DAY 3: Never Compare Your Beginning to Someone’s Middle

Mixed emotions. Just a lot going through my head. I had dark roast coffee this morning and then I had 2 latte’s a Mercer Island. I’m slowly winding down for bed. Boyfriend’s already knocked out. I out-did the gang today because of my caffeine in-take and because I got 10 hours of sleep… but, right now, I’m feeling lonely. I feel weird and I don’t know if it’s because I’m homesick. Seattle was once my home but now, it’s just this one, big, dark, lonely ass city. I don’t care if it was the Emerald city for me before. I don’t care if this is where the Seahawks are at, Bungie’s stationed, or Amazon is here. What do they have to do with me? To live here is to be a part of Seattle life, but what that really entails anything in relation to me when I’m broke as fuck? Nothing. Nothing. If I had an endless account of money, I might consider moving here, but I really fell in love with Portland, and even, just maybe the state. Seattle is a great city but puzzle pieces fit in their own crevices. And, my crevice isn’t Seattle. Not in this chapter. Not anymore. Now, everyone is sound asleep, tired from our game night of popcorn, drinks, yummy dinner and I’m the only one awake and it’s only 10:53 PM. 10  years ago, I would be in the bathroom, in my ex’s house putting on my last shuzz of lip-gloss to make sure my make up was PERFECT before we would head out to the club. Now, I turn in for bed at this time of the night and I am okay with it because I already got that shit out of my system. I’ve done it so many times. You go out, you go clubbing, then you get drunk, then you want some more, and then you get more drunk and just when you’re feeling sexy and getting into the groove of the best hip hop jam ever, they turn on the damn unflattering fluorescent lights and everybody’s looking haggard oh, except for me because my face is perfectly flawless and off we go to one of the opened Thai or Chinese restaurants open. It was so easy back then. If not that, it was a quick drive through to Jack-In-The-Box. Some deep fried onion rings, a big ass Raspberry Iced-Tea and guilt free coz we worked out everyday… and I was younger. Younger and stupider. It was easy. Then, sleep in the next day, and I would be ready to go again the next day. Now a days, it’ll take me a week to recover, and I am okay with that, too because I’m really over it. There are better things to do with my time. There are other things I’d like to spend my money and time… it’s called quality. I got my honey. I got experiences to live through and dancing it drunkenly around sweaty, belligerent people was my past. Plus, I had to get all dolled up. Now, we’re in bed cuddling and listening to music, giggling and full and satisfied and I got to know his sisters. He actually came in this morning and he asked me if I wanted breakfast. I told him that I needed to put make up on because I didn’t want her to see me without make up and he said, “It’s okay. You’re family now.” That was really sweet. I’m just very conscious about shit like that. We both didn’t have make up on, but still… I’m a perfectionist. I’ll try to take it down a notch but I want to make a good impression on his sisters. I really like them because they’re confident and real. They’re down to earth and smart. Like, SMART. They got their shit together… AND THEN SOME. They don’t gossip. They don’t talk shit. They tell it like it is and they include you in things. It was really intimidating at first, but she was really easy to talk to. We had similar thought processes… the only difference or similarities we had was that she is a Type A personality while mine would be… well, you already know. The bag of fucking nuts that I have. Sometimes, I wonder, if I didn’t have a bag of nuts, would I be also living in a really nice house like her, in a really nice neighborhood like her? Would I want the life that she has right now? No… would I change anything? I don’t know… no. Because if I did, then how would I find a voice for those who don’t have a voice…. I don’t know… I really don’t know…. I haven’t written or blogged in over a decade. I honestly can’t believe it has been a decade. I sincerely haven’t written in 10 years or so… and I’m just typing what I’m saying if I were to speak outloud. I have SO MUCH TO SAY… SO FUCKING MUCH… I don’t have paragraphs anymore.. punctuations out.. cuss words are in… nada. I haven’t read any books this year or the past few years. The last novel I’ve read was in 2013. Unquiet Mind. I had the best intentions of starting a blog back then, rhythm and rhymes but it was all about hallucinations, trying to be like Eminem but I’m so over it. Sigh.


When I first started this, I really wanted to make money off of this… but the book I’m reading specifically mentioned that if you’re only after making a profit out of blogging, you might as well just quit. And then there was another tip that said that if you want to be a writer, then start calling yourself a writer and publish your shit. Don’t say you want to be one, write a blog or a piece of work and don’t have the balls to publish it. So, I’m here. I don’t know if tumblr’s the best place to do it or word press. I don’t know… but it’s Day 3. I missed day 2 because I was exhausted. I didn’t even get to meditate last night either…


… so, yes, I’m going back to school. I’m going to blog because in my heart, I know I’m an artist. In my heart, I know I am a writer. A musician. A bag of nuts… is why I am so creative. The only reason why I am not where I am or expected is because I kept quitting. If I didn’t quit, I would have been at least HALF to where his sister is. *shakes head* So, I already have a new year’s resolution… Quit. I quit… quitting. I am never going to quit blogging. I will never quit meditating. I will never quit pursuing my art’s degree. I will never quit… ever again. And if I do, I’ll will quit for a moment, and then, like what Stallone said,.. get right back up. I quit. I quit quitting.


Rise. Rise from within.

Word count: 1,183


DAY 1 of 31

I wanna’ write so bad. But, I’m scared. So… instead of writing about how I’m highly intuitive, hyper-sensitive, and very creative; who can feel you when you cry and I’ll cry with you—for you—I will just stop describing myself right now and just focus on tonight. Rather than sharing that I fist bump my car door after I lock my car to double-check that it’s locked, I will talk about tonight.


Day 1 of the 31-Day, 500-Word Challenge


Tonight, I’m so tired. I didn’t treat my mind or my body with much love today and yeah, I am a bit disappointed in myself. Loving myself. I really gotta’ keep working on that, but I’m taking on a lot, I think. But, if I keep postponing things, life will pass me by. But, I am so tired. I really am. I woke up so early, skipped breakfast and drove to my 1.5 hour commute drive to a job in another city. It’s exhausting and no matter what time you leave, you will always be late, on time but never too early. Just a little bit, and that’s it. Thankfully, we had free bagels, so I had some of that, smeared a lot of cream cheese on it, literally thanked God and I sat at my desk and munched on that while working. This isn’t healthy, I know, but it’s just for now, just for today, just for this morning… just for this moment. Whatever gets you through. One day at a time and if not, then one minute at a time, and if not that… one moment at a time. Lunch was coming up, and I forgot to grocery shop the night before so I had the vending machine to check out but there were some left over bagels, so I had those instead. Smeared some cream cheese and sat at my desk and worked. Yes, unhealthy, I know… but just for now. Just for this moment. I just needed to get through the day. Our boss asked us to come early, so I had to get in at least 30 minutes early. I try to get in earlier than expected, but no matter what I did, or tried to do, it wasn’t getting any notice, not that I want any, but some appreciation would be encouraging. But, who cares. As long as I’m doing my job, and being productive. Then, I’m good. So, work was done. I got in my car and headed through traffic…


…and here I am, struggling to write because I’ve missed literally years, almost, actually yes, a decade-ISH of time wasted of not writing. Imagine if I didn’t stop blogging? No time for regrets now and I almost didn’t write tonight. I’m starting all over again and even though I’m starting back up, the fear is real. I’m just scared of everything. But, I really want to write, I just want to type, write, pour my heart out. I don’t care if it doesn’t make sense. I don’t care if it’s grammatically incorrect or there aren’t any fucking big words. Fuck is a pretty big word. Shit is another one. Flying fuck is my favorite. I mean, these are cuss words and I allow myself those because that’s practically my only vice anyway. That, coffee and white wine? I’m done with nicotine, marijuana was a great phase… but I’m over it. I’m ready to move on to the next phase and that’s writing, art… and don’t forget music. I’m working from the inside and then out. I’m already thinking of how I’m going to physically transform myself: running, gym, … the sky is the limit, baby! Ha… yeah, right. We’ll see. I hope I can keep this up. 31 days. It could be the commitment that scares me. Or… I don’t know. You wanna’ know how many attempts I did today? Four. Yes. Four fucking times. I typed 800 words and then deleted it. Typed again, and then poof. Then again and then gone… and then last, I published it on tumblr… no less than 5 minutes I was getting anxious, and I deleted it. Because I was scared. I haven’t done this in so long and I already know why I want to do this. I’m just waiting for the right time and hopefully my trip over thanksgiving will give me some time to let all the knowledge that I’ve been writing about blogging, writing and reading sink in so I can solidify what my purpose and calling is, my niche, my platform is all about in terms of blogging. There’s so much shit in my head that I don’t know where to begin or how to start so I try to write about how my day went or what I’m going to do tomorrow, or what I did yesterday, or how I’m feeling right now, or why do I feel this way, or that way, or…. There’s aaaaaalll these possibilities, all these ideas… and I want all of them, every single one of them to EXPLODE. I want to come out, but in a beautiful way. In such a way that you would want to join my club.


So, for now, one day at a time. If not, then one moment at a time… and remember. No need to react. Just respond. Or do what’s beyond… Rise.

When You Test the Waters Before You Make a Ripple Effect

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