Everything I do is a Pattern of Illness...

It's a dirty little trick...!

I'm writing and rapping (often times about specific patterns of illness. More specifically, about a mental and psychological pattern of illness that I've discovered through hard learned lessons, that, in my life particularly, the illness is bipolar. I'm not sure what that might mean to you.
It could affect you, personally, in many ways. It may trigger bad emotions, upset you or even push you to anger if you see bipolar as being a psychosomatic issue. Especially those of us (humans) (?) who still insist, (and can't be convinced otherwise)-- that bipolar is hardly ever diagnosed using MRI Technology, but it could be easily applied to a patient with atypical symptoms of bipolar and in less than 10 minutes, the pics they took of your brain will, without a doubt reveal whether you are or are not bipolar.

Pysiologically, parts of the brain are smaller and/or larger in certain areas in people with bipolar and schizophrenia. It's a tangible, real, repeatedly testable and realistically sustainable procedure to perform on these poor humans living a life of hell with no way out because some asshole in a lab coat is too worried about wxtch one of his secretaries he'd rather fuck while he lives a life of near sociopathic carefree/ shameless, classist negligence that they get paid to inflict on their patients.

The clinicians who gaslit and humiliated patients about their "fake" CFS for years are eating crow right now. Feeling quite foolish, I would assume. But not foolish enough to even come close to admitting that their scientific viewpoints and methodologies aren't much more emotionally or practically informed than they were 200 years ago.

Maybe it's because I'm a perfectionist, and I always try to do everything as best as I can. I try to treat people in a way that wouldn't offend me, trigger me or make me flip out. But that's not always possible, and when I don't succeed at empathizing, I feel like a failure. That makes me feel that special mud soup of bipolar shame right in the gut. It's hot and it burns my insides-- and then I get sick. It's a vicious cycle, and I don't know how to stop it. I'm hoping that writing about it will help me begin to understand it better, and maybe even find a way to break the cycle, but I don't hold any false hope. I have long waited for the day that I would wake up and think, "ok, this really is getting better. Very slowly and in tandem with an idiotically slow to work wellness plan, half assly sold to you by a frumpy nurse who couldn't remember your name 10 minutes after reading it twice..." Yeah, got off topic.
But one day I had hoped to return to normal. No constant fatigue, relentless body aches, the embarrassment of a bourgeois, wrinkled whore blanketed in Newport smoke--- who shares the same academic reach and graceful intelligence as a (less than common) fruit fly.
Yes, yes, I know, I sound horrible. I promise, I won't lay a single finger on her. She has given me away once, the day-- actually days before I was even born.

Then, when I'm nearing the end of all my resources, money, food, time off work and insurance coverage, she comes swooping in like she has ever given a single flatulent fuck about anyone other than her mangled, mottled mess of a face. As ugly and despicable as she is, nothing irritates me more than knowing I am the fruition of the most disgusting and shameful acts that she ever participated in, well, at least 3. She lied on someone (my supposed dad) but I don't think she knows who he is. She was just a pair of open legs back then, luring soldiers from the Army Base nearby, letting them fuck her and
her sister, getting the jarheads drunk enough so that they could/would /stand to fuck their whale of a morbidly obese, but somehow, mother who was 10x the asshole that her youngest daughter would grow to become.

If you and I knew the same people at the same time, how might that affect us? How did an initial misperception or inaccuracies turn into a DEI fatal error? Why doesn't it just stay an unintended oopsie, a mistake with no lesson or real meaning? Why doesn't anyone ever bother to do further research or a deeper dive into the minds of the people who live on this planet.

i'm asking myself abstract and atypically related questions to this debacle, because I'm attending university to pursue a doctorate in Sociology. The choices that a chicken head made, 30 some years ago is still following behind me like "IT", you know, the horny, but very creepy bugaboo that follows you no matter where you go?
My mental image of her is basically dust. I don't respect anyone as little as I respect her.

I have a hard time believing that she could even have the fucking balls to behave as she has in the last 12 months. Six of those 12 months, I lived in my car with my sweet little dog without so much as a blanket or a pillow.

She was a bigot. Obnoxious, ignorant, embarrassing af to even be around because she had such a grandiose image of what she thinks people thought of her, but God, (habit, turn of phrase that was not meant in a literal sense, because why would any god give a creature, a monster, a manipulator, a malicious lying, hoe ass, downbad bitch the gift of having a child ( a good kid), especially when I was a new born like me? Before the 30+ years of retardedly bizarre abuse from nearly everyone I had contact with until I was at least in the 5th grade would follow? Who knew that after high school it would get worse. I'd battle losing several unborn souls due to some of the damage caused by the abuse inflicted upon me, then , this is the part that really pisses me off, the peanut looking headed bitch had the audacity to try to make me out to be the bad guy. Every "help" she has given me has been a "curse" or later used against me.

I trully didn't know that people in this world can get by wonderfully by training themselves to be malignant covert sacks of lying shit, but my "momster from hell" didn't have to try, she was born that mean. Oh well, I'd rather not know who my father is. If you're so gross you are into having a three to ten way with your 450lb mother and 6 date raped army guys, be my guest, but yeah, she got one thing right when she " didn't let him sign the birth certificate". Ha ha ha, I was born on a friday night, but not this friday night. The selfish geriatric bitch as never known who he was. In fact, she may have fucked her brother or a cousin or god knows who else because they are an incestuous pack of sexual deviants, childmolesting generational fuck ups. Anyway, here's my damn song.

Thanks for letting me get that off my chest.