unto each key, a lock, its purpose serves

So there, today I sat...

...at the coffee shop, fumbling over my keys. I flipped past each one on the tarnished metal ring and tried to recall the lock to which each one served a purpose. Out of the nine keys on the ring, i could place four. Two where obvious. The first to my truck. it stood alone because of the plastic cover with the ram logo on it... dead give away. The second, all metal, but larger then the others was for my motorcycle. I solidified this because of the honda logo on its face. The third, my house key. I knew it from touch, from sliding it into the front door knob of my house day after day. The forth was a little more tricky. I had to think for a second. it had a different head on it. After a thought-filled moment i linked it to my shed by virtue of the name... dexter. A link, also to my favorite TV show. The others, i went over and over in my mind... no luck. They have been a collection, gathered over the years, building up on the ring. taking space. serving nothing. perplexing... i know.

Its kind of like my mind. i build things in there. habits. Some of which serve a greater purpose and several of which serve none at all... but take up space and befuddle the big picture. One of the biggest side effects I have to my mania is that i am totally, at times unable to think clearly... to many extra keys. I cant seem to form thoughts. This can be especially harmful when dealing with others. I go cloudy, and cant think without a sudden panic. What comes out is usually at that point of chaos and is very abrasive and hurtful. I get testy and tend to speak with a sharpened tongue. At that point the verbal conversation and what I am saying in my head are two different things. I can hear myself saying horrible, hate-filled things, but in my mind i am trying to correct them. I can be taking it out on my kids, the whole time thinking... "stop this Ron. you are being destructive instead of constructive towards your own children".

Being medicated clears those thoughts. I still have to deal with the habit of argument. Trying to reverse the way i have handled conversations and relationships for years. This proves to be a very touch fight. When I walk away from my kids and hear them make statements like "why is daddy in such a good mood" or "even though daddy gets on to us, he still loves us", i don't know if i should smile or break down in tears. but what it does, is give me reassurance that I am on the right track... the ever slow moving train... the always curving tracks... of the bipolar express.