Tag Archives: bipolar

What fuckery is this?

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I look at the long stretch of road ahead
As I drive home after a day of doing nothing
The truck I see in my rear view mirror
Looks very tempting to crash into
I imagine how it would be
Tilting the car to the side
And
The collision would have me drifting off
Off the highway to the other side
Impact from the collision would leave me unconscious
I hope dead
But then someone laughs
I think in my head, or the radio

You see the thing about bipolar disorder is that it creates scenarios
Shit that won’t happen but it is fun to imagine
My mind will convince me that it’s the best thing to do
Crash my car
Break stuff
Vandalize public property
Or go on an excessive abusive spree

Disturbed cognitive functioning sometime means that I alter my perception of reality
So I’ll imagine cruising down the highway at 100km an hour
After having a wonderful time out
And suddenly it would hit me that I don’t want to live anymore
At times I will go silent in a second
Because the happy switch that made the world seemed perfect
Was flicked out
It’s time for the gloom to take over

When you swing between extremes
You’ll be out hiking with your best pals at 8 am on a Monday
Laughing and dancing
But the very night
You decide that you’re not leaving the house for the next five days
The very sun you embrace
Is like thumb pin pricks on your skin
And your bones decide that the weight of all of this is too much
So your mattress on Wednesday will have imprints of your skin
On Friday the voices will haunt you
This is not real, you know it
Yet you won’t move
Because,
You know that happy days have a price tag associated with them
And this
This is the price you have to pay for being so happy the previous week

Sometimes, you imagine that nothing is real
And that you don’t want to wake up from this
Other times you slap yourself because it’s unbearable

Your friend comments how happy you look
And you don’t tell him that you’ve practiced this smile in the mirror
All the way from home

So next Monday
You refuse to give up
The world is not beautiful and it’s not painted in your favorite colors
And sunny days are not the best ones
A lot of times you want to kill yourself
On spot
But you don’t
Because, fuck! You deserve to live and carve out the life you want
The happy days will be back
You’ll live this one through as well
Till then,
Scream on your way home
Don’t crash into that truck

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A poem for the outcasts

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Dear You
Who has learned to stand still
With your back straight and your feet
Clenched to the ground
While the world keeps turning
From underneath
Do not let this break you
Hold on to your ground

Dear you
Who has always kept her head
Above the tides
Drowning means failure
Your thoughts become too loud
Up in your mind
Do not let this break you
Hold on to your shore

Dear you
The one that fell in love with breathing
As soon as you inhale
It quickly leaves
Promising to come again
As you exhale
Do not let this daunt you
Hold on to your love

Dear you
Who practices smiling every morning
In front of the mirror
Putting aside the turmoil within
A perfect pinned smile
In hopes that it would become real one day
Do not let this discourage you
Hold on to your hope

Dear you
The one who looks at the weather
Perfect blue sky
And a bright sun
Your inside is hurricane
Promising rain
Do not let this sadden you
Hold on to your umbrella

Dear you
Who learns all about sanity
And practices sane behavior
It’s okay to let yourself slip
In the oil slicked room
Of your insane mind
Do not clutch to their normal
Hold on to your weird

Dear you
The junkie
The dipsomaniac
The hypochondriac
The bipolar
The manic depressed
The psychotic
The schizophrenic
The pyromaniac
The narcissist
The compulsive liar
The megalomaniac

This poem is for you

My bipolar life.

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You see the clouds in dark glory claiming the night. Bitter cold that seeps loneliness in your bones.
Its just you who popped another pill and gulped another drink. Blood twirling down your naked wrist is a ballerina just starting her show.

Your heart beats against your chest in a desire to be let out. The cold in your ribcage is killing it and you hear howls of pain, agonizing calls of help from within yourself.
Remember, you killed all your saviors and bid a farewell to those you liked.
While, lovers make the angels sigh to be humans behind closed doors, you make the devil be proud of not being human.

Let madness dance in the air as you lay staring in open space. Infatuation with voids is a developing cure to all that your soul cannot bear.

Its after midnight. Your voices shunned. The screams hushed into a corner and you lay as the crimson shade dances on your skin, thinking?

Life is a bipolar bitch and I am its abusive victim with no escape.