Why Does Everything Seem to Go Wrong When It’s Already Fallen Apart? Part 1

By Marchanna ‘Mars’ Bentley

Can I catch a break? Was a constant question ruminating in my head for the past three months.

The past three months were a whirlwind of bipolar delusions. I wasn't able to differentiate between well-meaning people and those who wanted to give themselves an unwarranted pat on the back, one last self-righteous effort to protect the mentally ill Black lady driven insane by constant sexual attacks I brought on myself because I simply smiled a little too much at said attackers.

If you never meant to hurt me know this: I miss you lots and lots and lots!

The past couple of my uh… life have been zany on a cosmic scale. My new struggle with bipolar disorder left me little choice but to expose all my dirty little secrets to strangers as the weight of the shitty hand dealt to me began to take its toll both mentally and physically as the ooey-gooey tendrils of depression enticed me to give into already slain demons.

Oh, but it gets better.

I should have been back in my apartment in Japan last winter, but the Universe had other wonderful things in store for me and I kept subconsciously putting it off due to my fears of being alone in foreign country again.

But just how does someone like me (already a basket case of neurodivergence, PTSD from sexual assault and lovely chronic depression) manage to keep living despite being frankly punched down on by life?

1. The Universe sends me synchronizations all the time

Just as I had decided to take a break from Japan and return to America for a mental health break and helping out my relative's business, my formerly estranged dad also happened to be making his way to my old town to collect my blessing to die and in turn was able to offer an explanation as to why he wasn’t there for me growing up (nbd, shit happens, daddy).

It goes without saying that it wasn’t because dear old dad didn’t want me! Glossing over the normal daddy/daughter fights we were both able to finally laugh about, our fiery tempers were allowed to heal I continue to do so together via prayer and meditation.

The old man was sweet enough to fire off a poem I would later uncover in my sketchbook which I found at the hour of his death. I had chills, but I felt happy more than anything.

I got right with my dad and he got right with the world. I went through the rough patch of grass because I choose to make it difficult. Now, we heal in America the way I was supposed to last year; with my family and not with random people who never wanted to care. Because I was sick, I thought strangers would love me more than my own family. I don't want to get into my couch surfing phase but it was a mixed bag of nuts if what I will leave you with.

I won't reach out to anyone anymore. If people want to be there, they will.

Crazy but lovable Mars, so bright and always smiling is nobody's guard dog to pat them on the back. I hate to say it but the past few months had to happen in the way they happened. That realization makes me want to kick my feet into the dirt and lay down crying daily until I let it pass like a fart in the wind.

The bipolar delusions and non-constructive thoughts are drowned out my lithium and therapy. I no longer flood my system in response to duress I have no choice but to keep kicking and screaming as I pick my ass up again.

I had to learn that by trying to make my self-love journey into a group project, I got burned.

My poetry book sold less than 10 copies in 3 months. The day before I took it down someone left one star.

I keep writing because I can't shut up. Not while I'm awake.

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Hi! I'm Mars and I look forward to connecting with more writers here! You can follow my fiction and poetry blog at this link right here, Also, if you would like to be featured on my podcast in which interviewees are encouraged to play pretend when it comes to their career, please drop a comment below here with the best avenue to reach you and I will do so!