I don't know what it is that drags me down After every episode, I feel it I am not worthy I am useless I am ugly All because of me I pushed everyone away from me Who was left, were you I always feel guilty when I see you You are there, holding my hands, hugging me, healing me I feel guilty You are there, hurt by me, crying, screaming, begging for help inside Gets taken by the police and goes to the hospital I heard it, felt it I am guilty Because I can't and couldn't be there for you But hang on... I will be there for you someday When all this is over I will be standing there for you I don't want to feel guilty again...
Being bipolar is like I am trying to seek help and fix all this happening to me. I don't understand what is happening to me. is this me or just how my life is.
You said you'd help me live my dream Instead you trap me until I scream Loud enough to wash you clean Of all the things you think of me
Left on my own you think I'll drown But really truly I need the sound Of music to play and keep me down From floating too high up off the ground
When I float it seems so grand I don't need a single hand To hold me, protect me from the land Of my mind that's filled with biting sand
And what happens when you let me go? Do I run and jump, magically better? No Instead I fall and crash and so You reel me back into the throes
Back to the stained white walls And sterile silent deadly halls That should keep away the thoughts that call Me to push until I fall
How can you protect me from my brain Fueled by the blood flowing through my veins The chemicals messed up broken insane Leading me to fly away with the cranes
Shear words into our hearts, unfolding before our eyes. Both engrain a fear of desperation that speaks louder than words.
It isn't so bad when you understand them. Almost one and the same, unpredictable in their paths.
One has it, the other doesn't. The path that we both share, both unrequited. Like love. Still, like love.
We share.
Uncontrollable actions bloom forth from seizure to mood episode, blossoming forth an understanding that surpasses understanding to those to don't experience it.
And all that is needed is love. And understanding.
We share in that we both yearn for a world that understands our actions, never to be trusted from within. The pain. The uncertainty.
Are the same to those from the outside. "Oh, she has seizures." "Oh, he's depressed." The words we hear. "You're unreliable." "You're too much for me to handle."
The shame.
We deal with that which we cannot speak, yet we understand beyond words that comprehend. The path laden before us untrodden yet familiar. We push forward because we must.
And we'll do so again.
Together we'll conquer both or be consumed, unyielding to the torrent from within. Because we must.
We must.
Push forward.
That is the only way.
My wife has epilepsy. I have bipolar. They are similar yet worlds apart, and we must push forward.
What if the voices I hear are from God? Then I am Satan, and we’ll stay at war. I’ll strike him so with my ruby rod. And impale him down into the earth’s core.
What if the voices I hear are from space? I’m an alien with horns and a spot. No one believes these voices are my race. They do comment and understand my thoughts.
What if the voices I hear are man-made? I shall sail the seas like Columbus– through the stormy nights where I greet afraid. I’ll find the land this man encompasses.
And I’ll ask him why he made me this way. Does this mean I’m special– brought to a curse? These voices persecute me every day. They have become the air that I breathe.
My mind is louder than New York City. I tell it to shut up, and it’ll yell back. I tell my story. Some say I’m gritty. How can I be brave? I let them do this.
My mind dominates until I have none. Some of them complain more than my grandma. Voices play games with me till it’s no fun. They nibble parts of my brain, and they gnaw.
Oh, voices, voices, why do you taunt me? It is amusing. I don’t let others bully. I let my mind become the enemy. **** these voices! You have already won, you, see?
I watched “A Beautiful Mind” by John Nash. How can this mind be beautiful when it’s all gone? I do draw what I see throughout the day. I realized these figures took my mind away.
Schizoaffective bipolar type is hell’s disorder. It is a whirlwind of the curious mind. A fusion of emotions, brick by boring brick. Thoughts askew and twisted like twigs.
Mania, depression, and psychosis sleep together. Producing a break out of pandemonium. Exulting energy, dejection, and voices taunt. A battle within that seems to haunt.
Medication and therapy, tools of aid. Will tackle hell’s disorder and put it in Pandora's box. Be wary and do not open it no matter what. Or the symptoms will crawl over every inch of your skin.
Put the pain in the past because you can still live your life. You can work a 9 to 5, go on hikes, travel, and ride a bike. What is something you look forward to? They always ask. I sigh and answer: freedom.
This hell that consumes me Gets the best of me What have I done to put up with this suffering Months of depression And then light shines bright Welcome to the manic world voices said There is no exit From this cycle It is like being buried alive Crying and screaming Laughing and running all over the world
I used to think that ****** was the same as *****, And therefore I was both broken and unclean. I have learned that you can wash the blood off And cast out the stains of yesterday’s misfortunes That I may kneel before you and tell you That I am still sacred in my own skin.
