How can I possibly raise a baby of my own when I can barely raise myself?
Thinking back, it makes a lot of sense...
The well-hidden rage.
Minor outbursts here and there.
The silent plea for help.
Drowned furth by the shower head.
Spurting cold, cold water.
The numbness that comes afterward.
The beating of a heart calming down.
Echoing in your head.
It comes in waves, ya know?
They're not always soft,
Against the shoreline of your inner mind.
Instead, pounding sharp and icy,
Jagged rock and coarse sand under your palm.
Other times it catches you in your sleep.
Your mouth left half open.
Eyes faded into the black tunnel,
Where all words seem to have disappeared into.
Brows furrow in confusion and loss.
Sudden tears spring forth like a broken faucet.
There was no trigger this time.
Nothin to push you over the edge.
The screaming doesn't help.
The rage building in the pit of your belly.
Stoking an agonizingly acidic fire.
Which spreads like a virus into your veins.
Vibrating under your skin.
Thoughts fluctuating so quickly your mind spins.
Unable to catch words, phrases.
So fast they sound like another's voice.
Right in your ******* ear.
Another itch altogether.
Options, throw the good crystal across the room.
Pray your mother forgives you from the grave.
Knock a chair over.
Pull your hair.
Grab the largest kitchen knife.
Blood staining caramel skin.
Unmarred in years.
The old ones faded with time.
But you can still see them.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
You close your eyes against these visions.
"Don't forget to take your meds tonight."
You tell your reflection.
She nods trembling.
I don't know where to start...a couple of months ago I was diagnosed with Bipolar II. Safe to say, it explains so much of my preteen and late teen years. Especially now. Please note, this is just my interpretation of how BBD feels like to me.
— The End —