When I say I have Bipolar I get a single look that says "excuses".
I take a deep breath because I know it's going to be a long story to a person whose ears are closed and locked. I drag my tongue from the bottom of my stomach and begin to start a war between my words and what they actually mean. Because how do you explain sound to a deaf person? I have bipolar, a mental illness that makes its messy home in my polished head. It throws toxic socks all over my freshly vacuum floor; kicks it's muddy feet up against my sparkling glass tables and says "Honey I'm home"
I climb out of bed and take a look around my grey walls and white floor, I decide today is going to be a good day. Bipolar comes into my room and tells me that it will be.
Bright Smiles and happy songs playing on the radio and in every passing car. Energy coursing through my veins like a waterfall down the side of an evergreen Mountain. Energy that could power a whole state or even country. Happiness that could shine brighter than the sun, moon, stars and city lights all put together! Bipolar comes in and decides that's happiness then pulls my hair and breaks every window in my head, I mean house.. Then bipolar throws me in my room and turned off the lights. I'm so scared of the dark! It's too loud! My mood is dead, along with my plans. Tied to the bed called my grave; I sink in like a sunken ship that fell in love with a sharp shorelines. The lights turn red and bipolar is standing there with a chalkboard and perfectly pricked bloody fingers to defile the pureness of my ears. Rage fills my room like an all-you-can-eat taco stand on the corner of Blind Boulevard and Venomous Street. Spitting out hot magma at the people around me.. Bipolar's sadistic laugh is drowning out all free will as I take the scissors and cut off the people who care... or don't.. or do they? But why would they care about me? I'm nothing.. I look at the scissors and think how beautiful they would be in my arms spelling my self-worth all over the pavement. Depression comes and carries me to my warm bed and tells me I'm safe here and to never leave! I don't argue in such good advice. I close my eyes and give into my beautiful best friend named depression. My mom comes in and says it's been 6 months and I need to get out of before I become part of it.
Bipolar watches from the window with Glee. Coming in and pulls me back to the room with his muddy feet and toxic socks to start again tomorrow..
