Charlatan again

yes...........we are hidden within the deep turmoil of our souls. Your description in words gave me the vision of a painting:

 It will be about feeling. It will include the blues of the ocean, the darkest parts, the violets and magentas ,all blended well until mixed enough to show the world this hell. But no one really sees, not particularly because they are blind, but because our souls are ours. I know mine, you know yours. Even if we share our souls...they are still not completely known. This is the part that is hard to explain, the part that is sad and painful, the part that is moist with tears. It is hard becoming ourselves. It is hard becoming authentic. One step forward, one step backward, and then once more, and again. There never really is an end. I thought one day as I lay day dreaming...no one really knows me. No one really does.  How clandestine, this. How fun to be a spy! But we are all charlatans....the only one that knows us, is us...and sometimes, this knowing is not quite evident. It is more a walk, a journey, an adventure, a haunting,or a piece of poetry, bits and pieces of prose.  Tints and shades, juxtaposed....and the very special ingredient is that we, yes, you and me, and all those too, who suffer, have the ingredient that makes us different, unique, sensitive, daring, vigilant, improper, rebellious, humane, compassionate, crazy and insane. These are the ingredients that make good art. So, take heart! Be brave! Live your life...live it passionately with all its lows and fury! We should boast! Breathe deep, exhale slow...dive into the ocean, be refreshed. Life is our soul. Our soul is life.  And now....I will go paint. I will paint for you...I know you well. And I care.

raku

Go immediately to the store and buy Omege Three Fatty Acids where the EPA value on the back is at least 1x larger than the DPA # and start taking 1-2 Grams a day. Also goggle the Harvard research study on Omege Three Fatty Acids and BiPolar disorders.

I completely agree with you.  Faking that you're doing fine so everyone will believe it.  Even yourself.  My anger scares me, because it is frought with paranoid delusion.  I'm switched around from doctor to doctor.  I am considered "fragile", which is true.  I'm so sensitive that everything in life is blaring and I am frightened and cower.  I try to be as normal as possible, but people seem to see that something is wrong with me.  I don't understand, because I don't think they will see my shaking hands, my panic, my fear that everyone can read my thoughts.  I try to swallow it all down, like a bitter pill.  I hope that I develop a hard shell around me to protect my fragile insides.