A cycle.
Welcome home said my bed as I crawled into it at 2 PM.
The tears have become a permanet stain on my pillow case.
I'm crying for nothing.
Not for nothing.
To feel something other than a void.
I'll be here for months if you need me. In the dark covered up.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in.
As if telling myself to move my heavy chest in the steady motions of breathing is what I want to do.
Breathing today is the hardest and only thing I've done.
My hair is oily and matted.
I haven't showerd in a week.
Mom says "you look like you've lost weight."
Depression says "we can't eat. It hurts the void she needs to feel."
I say "Thank you, portion control."
Today I woke up different. Happy to be alive and breathing wasn't so hard anymore.
I treated myself because you know "self love."
I wanted everyone to know I wasn't stuck in bed today playing the repeat button in my brain.
I took a selfie of me smiling. It has the most likes on my Instagram.
I only need three hours of sleep now and I feel great for the day.
I told the doctors I felt like I was on a high.
They said that was part of my illness. It's called mania.
They ask how long it usually last, I tell them two weeks.
I guess that's the problem I'm never truly content.
They have a name for you. Manic Bi-Polar Depression.
Today I'm breaking up with you.
A cycle.
I crawled into bed at 2 PM again.