Sander was writing, bending over his notebook that afternoon, pen in hand.
Rock n' Roll Suicide
Time takes a cigarette, puts it in your mouth
You pull on your finger, then another finger, then your cigarette
The water-wall's calling, it linger, then you forget
You're a rock n' roll suicide
You're too old to lose it, too young to choose it
And the clock waits so patiently on your sony
You walk past the cafe but you don't eat when you've lived too long
You're a rock n' roll suicide
Chev brakes are snarling as you stumble across the road
But day breaks instead so you hurry home
Don't let the sun blast your shadow
Don't let the milk floats ride your mind
So natural - religiously unkind
After finishing, Sander posted the poem on his instagram with a caption: I've had my share, I'll help you with the pain. Just turn on with me, and you're not alone.
Sander smiled and closed his notebook. He leaned back in his chair, thinking. His phone chimed, he read the text from Robbe. Smiling, he replied: Be there shortly 😘 He shrugged on his jacket, took his shoulder bag and walked out from his room. His mom was in front of her laptop, working. She looked up when he came in the kitchen.
"I am going out with Robbe, mom." Sander kissed her cheek. "I'll probably stay at his place tonight."
His mom ruffled his hair, "Okay, send my love to him and his mother also."
"Sure."
"Careful out there!"
"Roger."
Outside, Sander took his bike and rode leisurely. It was a fine Friday afternoon, just before the sun set. The horizon was started to awash with warm orange. Fingers of pink underlined the clouds, sailing, broke up, changing patterns, met up again, seemingly the same, but also different. People were out, walking, cars on the streets. Parks and laughters, smells of food and smokes, flowers and smiles. Sander looked at the world, smiling back.
Life had been great for the past seven months. He had been pretty much stable. There were still days when it was a battle to get up. The wars inside his mind. But Sander kept moving and survived it one by one. He stuck to his routine, a steady sleeping schedule, took his medication, kept a close watch to his moods and warning signs, met his psychiatrist when it was needed. Sander had been keeping a journal also. When it slipped through his attention, there were people around him who reminded him and supported him. Their attention and care didn't irritate him like it used to, before. He trusted them to love him, and Sander counted his blessings every day. He didn't know how much of the bipolar is him, but it was a part of him. Dr Ava was right. In the past, he never really accepted it, he never truly owned it. But he understood better now. Everyone had their own battles. And this was his. No matter what happened, this was his fights, his battle scars. Life is now anyway. Journey before destination, always.
PS: The poem above could be found in Sander's instagram (Earthlingoddity)
PPS: I wrote an extra after this epilogue about Sobbe, because I can't help myself. Kindly check out if you want to.
Note: So, this is where it ends, Sobbe story still continues though. Check out the wtFock for more of them (I recommend Wtfockdown, if you haven't watch it). Thank you so much for reading. For me, the hardest part was the portrayal of bipolar disorder. I did my best, and I hope I hadn't offended anyone in any way. It's been amazing experience, and I've learnt a lot. Again, thank you for sharing and loving Sander with me : )