The title of this chapter is inspired by a song by the band TV girl. I have been listening to so much that I think listening to it in the future will remind me very distinctly of this time. TW: SA
The cycle will continue
The life I live with my bipolar disorder is a very cynical, sometimes laughable existence.
I am very used to the highs of mania and lows of depression.
I have seen these episodes begin, grow, and end many times.
It's a very comforting bit of Knowledge to know that the depression has never lasted longer than I could live with.
Even in the months of Grey I know that the cycle will be over, if not tomorrow maybe next week, if not next week then by next month.
A walk in the woods
I was not enjoying my time at the house I was in, haunted by nightmares of days past, so I began walking to somewhere new.
I walked down the street, and down another, until I found the nature of this city.
I began walking towards the trees, they hung over me like a loving blanket.
I continued further and further away from the noise of the highway.
As I was walking, looking at the beautiful trees and creek I noticed a large camp.
There were large boxes of empty needles, tents, even a few stuffed animals, but not a single person.
I wondered where they all went, I wondered how I could live in a house in a sweet neighborhood when less than fifteen minutes away people were sleeping in the woods.
A nightmare of sorts
Last night I woke up many times between nightmares, all similar to the memories of what happened to me when I was a young child.
In one of the dreams I was with someone I knew a number of years ago.
We walked into the concrete jungle of cars to see a little girl, scared, alone with her brother in the car, she seemed hurt in a way that I knew all too well.
My friend asked "did he touch you" and when the little girl nodded we both came into the car.
When the man came back he grew angry.
I woke up soon after.
I often wish I could go back in time and speak up loud to stop those visits to my bedroom.
But, I have grown not to fault my younger self for being unable to speak such horrible truths.
I cannot blame a scared child for the abuse they suffer, therefore I cannot do the same to myself.
I cannot judge a struggling teenager for the memories they cannot speak of, therefore I cannot do the same to myself.
In these moments the only right thing I can do is be glad that on that day, one day not many days ago, I was no longer scared enough to hide.
YOU ARE READING
Letters from sixteen
PoetryA poetry book I wrote during periods of my life with many different facets. I wrote about happy moments, addiction, and trauma, the book becomes more depressing as it goes on. I choose the title "letters from sixteen" to capture how I wanted to capt...
