My mind is a sea. At times I latch on to the boat of sanity, as the waves thrash & the winds blow. Seems as though the downpour will never ease. Stranded with only the feelings of hopelessness to surround me. Alone in my feelings. Alone in my thoughts. Alone with in myself.

The waves subside & lay calm, crystal clear to the sea life beneath. The sea is full of colors & creatures abode. The sun is warm on my skin, bright in the baby blue sky. Dolphins come out to play, showing off eagerly as they entertain. I dive in. Life couldn't be greater.

My heart can be a secret garden, filled with fruits & berries. The air is scented of sweet lilies. Come to this garden & be refreshed my love. I have so many gifts to share.

Yet when the sunlight fades into dark, the cold winds howl. The gate to the garden is locked. There's nowhere for you to rest your head. Nothing to share.

My world lies on a merry go round. Up then down & round I go. I sit sick on this rollarcoaster of emotions. I don't wish to drag you along so I'll silence myself until the sun rises again because it always does. I'll do anything for you my love because my love towards you is the only stable thing.

Woke up.
Cleaned the kitchen.
Cleaned the bathroom.
Cleaned the living room.
Cooked food.
Didn't eat.
Cleaned the kitchen again.
Got uncontrollably angry because I couldn't get a stain out of the carpet.
Punched a wall.
Laughed hysterically at myself for 20 minutes.
Had a panic attack and cried hysterically for no reason.
Forgot to eat.
Can't stop pacing.
Can't stop talking.
And talking.
And talking.
And talking.
Thought about killing myself.
Decided it would be more fun to stay alive.
I wouldn't die anyway.
I'm invinsable.
It's 4:00am now.
I couldn't sleep even if I wanted to.

I am swimming in the sea.
The water is warm.
The sun is kissing my skin.
I am floating.

               I am drowning in the sea.
               The water is cold.
               The sky has clouds.
               I am sinking.

Some days I feel like I am under water.
Some days I am afloat.
Some days I am a mixture of both.

When you experience intrusive suicidal thoughts 75% of the time,
You really forget what it feels like to not feel suicidal.
Having those thoughts there consistantly becomes apart of you.
Waking up in the morning and not thinking about ending your life is a breath of fresh air.
Like a weight is lifted off my shoulders.
But there are some days when not feeling suicidal feels strange.
Like a part of me is missing.
And I find myself wondering why I haven't had any intrusive thoughts in days.
Not that anyone actually wants to have suicidal thoughts.
You see,
I always talk about getting better.
How I want to get better.
But what is ¨better¨?
I didn´t hurt myself today.
I took a shower.
I went into society and talked to people.
Is that being better?
Has my mental illness completely disappeared?
No.
My brain chemicals are still imbalanced.
Today I was just able to function more than I did yesterday.
And maybe tomorrow I will function even more than I did today.
Every day I am growing,  and learning,  and coping.
But I will not ever be better.
I will simply be a different person than I was the day before.

I am a glass half full
Transparent and beautiful in my own right
But muddled
I am a glass half empty
Like the realist I am, knowing that sometimes a glass is just a stupid glass

What does a glass matter when all of them are ***** because I couldn't get out of bed today to get the dishes done
Why should I care about half empty or half full when I should definitely just drink the stupid water because I haven't all day and my head is beginning to ache due to dehydration

Why is it that sometimes I can take my life by the reigns and be the best version of myself but that other times it feels like some unknown variable has snatched them away from me and is driving down the freeway in the wrong direction going 90 miles an hour

How hard is it to believe me when I say that I'm okay
I am okay
I swear
But I'm drowning in a sea of my own tears
Oh dear, I wish I hadn't cried so much
Now I'm losing my way, falling deeper into this hole in my head, losing myself and losing you

When the sun rises it will all be gone
I'll wake up and everything will return to normal
And I'll sit at the table with my glass half full.

For ****'s sake.

How did we end up here again?

The soothing, annoying word flickers on my blue-back lit screen and I am ****** back to the tumultuous moment when once upon a time it yelled bipolar.

And here we go again.

My thoughts flick, flit, floss between teeth made for biting and real meat. They need plaque, collection, to grow and accumulate mass to progress. But there my flicking thoughts go, flossing.

I've always struggled focusing, but I just got excitable, got manic, and it would solve everything. Mania was my monster, my red bull, and now that its sated and off to Wonderland...

I'm left here, face to face, with a twitchy white rabbit wondering why I would ever think to use my pretty little head when its such a good projectile into the sky.

I had always wondered, in those whispering nights, when my hands couldn't stop moving and my head wouldn't shut up, if something was wrong. But it was silly, I had two already, full of worry then full of poles. Couldn't be another, could it?

Of course, a Grace of Wonderland always knows best, and here we are. Another bottle to drink to keep me sane.

I wonder if my fingers will thank the capsules when I might stop biting them? Or my toes? Is this why my toes always twitch and dance, why they stand center-stage in so many of my mild fantasies? After all these years, the divas that my lower digits have become may not appreciate losing their star titles.

I just want to be fine. I want to figure out how to move beyond all the strange misfires in my head. How did I survive so long without a notice? Inflates my ego to know I should have been caught by now.

Guess just like the White Rabbit, despite my widgets and worries, no one can stop me from running when I'm madly, absolutely, refusing to be late.

Graces only knows to fight with fire and fists. Tis the state of my Wonderland, and perhaps now things will only get better.

It's going to take a miracle for me to feel again.

I don't get these people. These funny, funny beings.

Oh, I'm seeing things again.

Psychosis. Crazy. Eyes staring down from treetops.

Alien hands reaching out for you, for me, through the stark darkness of my childhood room.

Lights blind me: florescent and scorching hot-white.

He's always in my dreams. Watching me, somewhere. I search for him but he doesn't exist.

I know that.

I know that the trees don't have eyes and nothing wants to touch me.

Nobody ever wants to touch me.

Maybe it's better this way.

It's better to not be touched, or looked at.

Only imagined glances, passes, fancies.

He's right there, in my dreams again. I'm searching for him again. Imaginary love is as good as it gets.

It'll take a miracle for me to get used to the fact that I'm here to work, eat, sleep and die. Sacrifice.

At 25 I've grown old and fixed on an idea of perfection.

A perception that I can't feel breathing beneath my fingertips.

He isn't real.

This world is real.

I sure as hell wish I wasn't real, too.

She stares at the blank page
Then at the far wall
“We’re all mad here,” it says
Whispering
Yelling
Beckoning
I feel so small
A tiny version of myself
Balled up inside
Peering through this strangers’ eyes
Sounds echo loudly
Reverberating through my hosts’ body
I may be losing my mind
Everything is surrounding me
Pulsating
Colossal versions of themselves
I’m in the kitchen now
How did I get here?
How long has it been?
I place my hand in front of my face
It doesn’t feel like my hand
I pick up a knife and slice open the palm of my dead hand
I don’t flinch
I don’t feel it
“Where am I,” I ask as the blood drips from my hand

There's this wire I keep tripping on
the string that lays parallel to current divisions of reality
a plane of moments
strategizing time fragments that correlate with the general population
but keeps me cloaked behind a veil of
they call it
dissociated
the illusion that I cannot fully connect
my atoms don't seem to just align properly with the whirling visions around me
and I slip into the seconds of grandiose prophecies
consumed with the mentality that I will never be enough
that my moments will never really
quite line up.