I Wish I Still Loved You

I wish I still loved you

But I closed that part off

That chapter of our story has ended

Now we just laugh

My reasons for staying are practical now

Oh what a relief to think past my heart

I’ve always lived better outside of love

Love hurts

Life loves

Love life

And make your own story the best romance yet ♥️

Giving myself everything I ever wanted

First Off

First off; I’m bisexual, bipolar and ethically non monogamous.

Mmmmmhu Shall I continue?

My candour has no respect for ego, rank nor title

I NEED my partner to take care of me; I never felt taken care of parents and so no matter how well off I get you NEED to support me.

I need the soft life. Yes NEED.

My hands are rough and calloused from a hard life, it’s been 28 years. I deserve some softness now.

I’m whole and content alone even more so now with my Luna 🐈‍⬛

So while I want you; my good man, my good woman – I DO NOT need you.

I want flowers from you, I want to spend special occasions together, I want to make future plans with you, take trips with you.

I want these things, WANT

But first off, I do not NEED them…not with you.

I don’t need to want you forever

Old, Odd, Broken People

I keep trying to love all the old, odd, broken people because I feel odd and broken too and I hope someone would see the parts of me that deserve to be loved too.

But alas, I see it doesn’t work like that. It only took 2.5 decades to come to this conclusion. Not long at all. Whew! Navigating adult relationships are hard eh?

So umm, how do I get this more right for the next time I try? Genuine question.

My Love Wasn’t Enough…

It’s never been and may never be.

Perhaps this is where inanimate love comes from; if you love something that can’t expressly love you back then you can’t be unloved right?

I might try that. Love a lamp; an old broken lamp because then it’s already lost it’s light so you spare yourself that heartbreak.



suspended…I have read that in waterbodies with high salinity it’s impossible to sink, one stays floating. I suppose that’s how I am feeling lately; stuck but. not in a trapped kinda why, but in I can’t move kinda way; not paralysis either but that I am somewhere I am to be but not sure what I am to do here…

I don’t think I’m at a point where I can allow anyone to lift me because I am so heavy…all of me.

My tears oft feel like concrete.

Can’t I be Mad Out Loud?

Why must my madness only be palatable in eloquence?

Can’t I be mad out loud?

Why can’t I wear my madness in my attire?

Can’t I just not shower? Not sleep on time? Not eat right? Walk straight? Nor exercise?

Can’t I just be unabashedly insane for a day and still be considered well?

“I’m doing well” “I’m doing pretty good” “I’m ok actually” “I’m fine” . Banal.

Can’t I get one day to feel my skin get warm…hot? from the inside.

To see the sun! To actually see her you know? …

It’s been too long…I’m beginning to forget why I can’t just be mad OUT LOUD

I’m growing weary of keeping the madness to myself

I’m yearning to spill out over the edges

Dance naked in the sun…can’t I?

This is my Cutting


Prying my wounds open for you

how desperately irrational that is

Why must we refuse to heal?

Constantly scratching our scabs.

Does this qualify as art?

“Painting” virtual walls with my insanity

Depression Wants You to Disappear…

But you shouldn’t. Today, in my 27th year I have come to appreciate the idea of participation trophies. I used to think it was foolish and unwise to set children up with this idea that they will be rewarded even if they came in last. I thought only the winners should get trophies and that telling your children anything but, would set them up for failures and unhappiness in the future when no one would reward them as adults just for participating. Well, lately that’s all I have been able to do; participate. I’m just showing up and doing my best; not THE best but MY best. And when I refer to showing up I’m quite literally referring to showing up to the parade of the living. Yeah, I’m referring staying alive.

I feel for my partner lately, because this is my 8th day of sitting on the sofa. For 8 days the most productive things I have done is grocery shopping and visiting my aunt. I mean, I’ve made breakfast and dinner a few times over those 8 days, and I’ve showered everyday (this part is my brain doing the thing it does where it makes me feel better by giving me factual evidences of me having not just existed on the sofa for 8 days. And by the way I can only do this when journaling, so in lieu of therapy I come here, to you; the internet). I went for a 30 minute walk 2 days ago at night. I went to the gym a few days ago and swam 20 laps. But then I went to the ER yesterday for an elevated heart rate, chest tightness, difficulty breathing and weakness. This of course was triggered when I dozed off on one of those workless days at home. The doctor, nurses and all my friends asked if there is something I am stressed about to which I replied not at all; at least not consciously. What are you worried about Imani?

Mmmm….Maybe it’s the fact that I quit yet another minimum wage paying 9-5 to focus full-time on my business yet haven’t actually put in any hours into that since. Hehe. This is why depression wants me to disappear; it tries to convince me that this all is pointless and where I think I am making progress I am actually deeper in shit than I probably have ever been but maybe just maybe I am growing more resilient and coping better and that makes him feel like shit. That makes Mr. D feel as though he is failing at convincing me to become a shut in, a recluse. I think Mr. D is feeling like a failure this year and maybe I am not able to feel anything enough to celebrate that now but I know that as the sun comes out and I continue to reflect as I do I will remember that this year I didn’t disappear.

I have learnt that participation trophies are awesome and that being here everyday and continuing to get up and show up inspite of everything is a fundamentally significant part of the winning process for if I am not even at the race how can I even fathom winning. So today, I want to congratulate you and hand you your virtual award for being here. Yes, you got that right. You are doing great for being here and participating in this living thing. Maybe today you didn’t finish first, or second but when you will have gone to bed to wake up tomorrow; that my friend is finishing.

I am proud of you for waking up today and participating and for finishing. You did it. You made it through another day and you have resolved to get up tomorrow and participate again. Congratulations!

Participating in the living parade

Contending with my Beliefs

I’m not sure of the exact reason why; but I have been contending with my beliefs lately. I’ve been ruminating constantly on needing to pray. I’d always considered myself a praying woman and lord knows I prayed countless prayers for many of the things I now have and get to enjoy. I’m feeling immensely blessed and favoured just by taking stock of my immediate environment right now. There was a time when I had to ask my neighbour to use her computer and internet…I prayed; now I own multiple devices that can access the internet and I have access to the internet in the comfort of my home. I never had a smartphone until years after they were a prominent staple of society; now I’m privileged to own smartphones; the latest technology that I love. I never had my own space for a very long time…now I have a beautiful apartment that I get to enjoy; I get to live in a quiet, calm and peaceful place. I am so so blessed.

It could be hypomania, I don’t know really but I prayed just now and it reminded me how much prayer meant to me. I’m contending with my beliefs because I no longer subscribe to any religious dogmas but I wholeheartedly believe there is a higher power and I enjoy connecting with said. I’ve spent a lot of time in meditation especially in nature of late and spending time in worship and prayer felt like a tight hug from a dear friend I haven’t seen in a long long time.

I never left my Bible in years past. It was comforting to carry it around as I moved from place to place. It was a reassuring staple on my bed or bedside table. Tonight, I’m craving the comfort of a hard copy Bible and I’m itching to go out and buy a new one and this is where my dissonance lay. Does owning a Bible make me Christian? I just don’t want to have to explain my current belief system to anyone because I’m still contending with it? Do I now not get something that will bring me comfort because I don’t want to have any uncomfortable conversations? mmmm…Well these are my musings tonight.

What would you do? And why?

I think if someone was asking me this question; I’d say to them do what’s best for you in this moment and if the conversation comes up as to why a Bible is a staple in your life if you no longer subscribe to that dogma you say
“practicing yoga doesn’t make you a monk, nor a Buddhist” Books are just that; books. Are you also a follower of the author of the book on your nightstand? I suppose not. Lastly, tell them to drink some water and mind the business that pays them.

Praying Black Woman

What if the Sun Decided She Wanted to Die

What if the sun decided she wanted to die

That she was tired of showing up and how she desperately needed to cry.

What if the sun was burn out

Carrying a flame that seemed as though it would never run out.

What if she forgoes showing up

And decided to leave; seeming rather abrupt.

What if she was tired of hearing us complain about the very thing that brought us life

What if the sun decided she was done with this shit

Fatigued from seeing us in constant war and strife.

Then boom! That will surely be the end of it.

I Wanna Go Home

Every year since immigrating whenever someone asked if I missed home I’d tell them “Not yet, I lived there for 21 years. I’ve seen it all or at least most of it.” When they asked if I missed my family, I’d say “not really, we keep in touch and that’s enough for me.”

Well, it’s no longer enough. I miss them. I miss them terribly. I recently got pictures of my baby brother in his school attire and it just broke me. He’s so tall now. He looks so grown and I feel as though I’m missing everything. I feel stuck, trapped even…

I cried all day today. The only time I wasn’t crying was when I was sleeping. It was never supposed to go like this. Well not if I had my way. I have been trying so hard to “stay strong and trust God and my journey” so so hard. This past week I have just been crying, bawling really. How much longer am I meant to be strong? I think I deserve some softness in this lifetime. It just wasn’t supposed to go like this.

…would you tell me?

Would you?

Tell me that is.

If you found someone special; would you tell me?

If you met someone who lights up your world; would you tell me?

If you’re expecting a child would you share that with me?

If you’re getting married, am I one of the persons you’d share that with?

If you’re questioning life and your purpose, would you question it with me?

If you feel as though you’re losing your self…your sanity,

Would you tell me?

This piece isn’t very poetic,

it wasnt meant to rhyme or flow.

Truthfully, it was just meant to try and let you go.

Tomorrow is upon us and the tears are anew,

I truly do not know if I can face you.

You left me in the dark Kenard

And while I find my way back to the light,

I don’t know that I can do that with(out) you.

I need answers from a dead man.

I look at your familiar face

and your unfamiliar obituary.

I feel as though I lost my friend

And before now, I didn’t believe that ends.

Now, what really are friends??

For if I’m not someone you can bare your soul to

we’re all but strangers…associates.

And I’ll need time to adjust to this.

Just another day of me not understanding humans …weird af. Reason 101 why I bill by my bloodclaat self

Today is One of My Bad Days

Sometimes I think wearing it on my forehead would prompt the world to be a little kinder, a little more gentle, a little more loving…I don’t know.

Today is one of my bad days; living with #bipolar disorder 1 can be a living nightmare sometimes. Over the past month I have been doing everything I can to hold myself up; to stand upright in the whirlwind of my life. I don’t want to cower and whimper and make myself small as I have in recent years. I don’t want depression to take my voice away this year. I don’t want depression to make me numb this year. I don’t want depression to isolate me this year. I don’t want to feel as though I am at the mercy of my thoughts and moods and not them me.

This year I’ve resolved to fight back, to not just audibly tell the voice in my head that only I hear to “shut up” but to bend it into submission; to me.

Though I’ve left the guilt I used to feel to taking days off when I’m not well in 2020; on days like this I get a little scared that if I relent on fighting this one day, one day will become two, then become a month and 💥 before I realize I have submitted to this thing again. And #ongod I refuse to do that again.

This is my 5th year in this country and #mentalillness has robbed me of too much of my goals and while the time cannot be taken back I’m going to fight tooth and nail for the remaining years. If you know the story of the Chinese bamboo you’ll understand why this 5th year is significant to me. This is my year of exponential growth come hell or high water.

mentalhealthawareness #mentalhealthmatters #mentalhealth #bipolardisorderawareness #immigration #immigrant #growthmindset #faithit

Find one thing to be grateful for today and I promise it’ll feel a little less hopeless

Things are Starting to Feel Heavy

Heavier maybe. In early November I started to feel the shift beginning and I tried together my ducks in a row accordingly. I think it was November that Mr. D (Depression) sent a reminder of his impending visit and I think he too was a little annoyed at the fact that I was hoping and acting as though he mightn’t visit this year. He was right. I feel as though this past manic season was the best I have had in over 5 years as I didn’t have any major breakdowns, I didn’t run off without telling anyone, I managed my hyper-sexuality well, I didn’t start any new businesses or incur anymore debt. I did good this year; even if it’s only me who understands that.

Things started to feel heavier and I didn’t have the energy to maintain my 7 day per week work schedule and consequently started dropping some stuff. I definitely trimmed the fat and tried to create a more realistic schedule based on my energy levels. But as all things with bipolarity we tend to overdo it and it’s finding the right balance that we struggle with. I went from 7 days a week to 2. Yes, you read that right. I was exhausted from all the picking and dropping I was doing for my sister and working on average 2 days per week. It might not sound like a lot but for this time of the year it’s a WHOLE LOT.

Between dating and my sister I wasn’t finding much ME time or ME space and I struggled with being elated and happy to have them both around to wishing they could be around while I exist close enough to them but in like my own private bubble. It’s hard to reconcile loving them and enjoying their company in one breath and wishing there was a 25th hour in the day just for me and better yet; an 8th day in the week where only I existed.

I was growing tired of feeling as though I am at their service; cooking, existing… everything. It’s this part of being me that I often struggle with explaining to others. If you’ve read my bio, you’d see where I said I love people but I honestly don’t quite like them. I love them as a whole but I haven’t much tolerance for them existing. I suppose this is where the selfish loner and sensitive INTJ part comes around. I love my sister with all I know how and it was an absolute joy and blessing having her around but I don’t know how long my sanity would’ve survived. I love my partner and I enjoy the time that we share but I don’t think I’d cope with more time (laughs while covering mouth and eyes). It’s my truth and I won’t pretend it’s anything else. If I had to see anyone all day, everyday; I’d strip myself and run off into the woods barefooted and wild and never look back. If I had to entertain another human for anything longer than a few hours per day my soul would melt away from my body and leave it hanging; empty…hollow.

I love humans but I don’t like them.

I say them; knowing full well that I am dissociating from the parts of me that are considered human because I’m not sure I’ll ever truly accept that the things I dislike most about myself are the things that make me them; human (eew) haha

Well, exactly one week ago I found out a close friend and past lover died. I wept uncontrollably for a few hours and the tears threaten even now as I write. I messaged and called a dead man over and over and over for over a month. We live in different countries you see and as adults with budding lives , careers and family, we’d connect at least once per week with a little check in chat and had our once a month video call to see that the other is actually still alive and getting fatter (Me) and leaner (him). We held space for vulnerability, bounced ideas off each other, talked about our current lovers and the occasional venture into our crazy families. We were good. Its was good. I’m happy and grateful to have met him and known the parts of him that he shared and I’ll honour the memories we shared forever.

The tears dried up within two days though; as I learnt things about his life that he chose not to share. I went from heartbreak over his death and my lack of knowledge about it for well over a month, to rage at the circumstances surrounding his passing; I refuse to believe he drowned; he was top of his class and cohort; a diver of his caliber doesn’t drown in a fucking harbour! *breathes* if my chest is to believe; I think I am still angry. The emotion I feel the most however is uncertainty, if that’s even an emotion. I feel as though I only knew a fraction of the man I called friend because the parts of his life that he chose not to share were such big parts and I’m torn trying to rationalize why he felt the need to keep those away from me.

Was I a horrible friend who would ruin it for him with my pessimistic views on the unnaturalness of monagamy?? Was I not as close to him as I thought I was?? Who was this person even? Who was I to them? What is even true and what’s not? and how dare he die without any notice? Yes, at 27 years old, I still ask these illogical questions and a part of me would really like some answers…from the dead.

A symptom of my disorder is hallucinating. Every time I have been alone since I’m both terrified and hopeful that my brain will conjure up his likeness…we deserve one last conversation…one last “I only want to see you happy” one last “I love you”

Cue the snotty nose and leaky eye faucet

Dear Kenard,

I’ve been meaning to write you since I found out about your transitioning. You know I believe souls never die and you always read my blog to keep up with my madness so I hope you’re checking in now. The parts of me that believe in magic and parallel universes and the endlessness of souls are feeling quite comforted right now having finally sat to pen this. I imagine you’re reading over my shoulder right now waiting for me to get to the point and stop being so long winded. But I shan’t. You can’t rush my thoughts along anymore with the “Mani, I’m gonna have to let you go soon because work work work”. I imagine you’re restless as a soul and can’t wait to be reborn into a body so you can go to work again, dive again, study again. I imagine you’re trying to figure out how to expedite the resting in peace part and figuring out what’s next for you in this realm that I’m still in.

But Kennybear if I could say anything and you’d listen; I’d tell you to go smoke some weed; I hope the soul version is even doper than ours lol. I’d tell you to go spend your days watching Kyra grow up and if there’s anyway to communicate tell (show) her how much you love her, and how much you believe she is beautiful and smart and talented and that she can do amazing and positively impactful things in this life.

If you’re reading this; send me a sign that you’re fine and that you’ll at least consider the resting part of the RIP thing.

I love you KP,



What if we could?

What if we could walk away from trauma?

What if we could fly away from hurt?

What if we could swim away from pain?

What if we could run away from all the torturous familiarity?

What if we could learn a new language that has no words that we’ve encoded in this trauma chain we drag around?

I weighed my baggage overnight, removed what I found irrelevant but was still overweight as I tried to fly…

Maybe I’m trying to hide them and leave them in every beautiful place I travel to in this world.

For everything I found beautiful was dangerous and shrouded with a majestic mystery that captured every piece of me.

Of nature I was born and to nature I’ll always return

If My Love Is Hurting You

If my love is hurting you
Don’t let us sit in the silence
If my love is hurting you
Tell me, show me, how can we fix it?
If my love is hurting you
Forgive me, my love
It was never my intention to love you wrong
So baby, if my love is hurting you
Let me emancipate you…go

Writing prompt from IG

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