Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jonathan Sawyer Jan 2018
I am speaking to my future me.

You love your wife, Adyson.

I know when the demons come back with more force than the last time, this thought enters your mind:

"Divorce your wife, this is unhealthy."

The truth is, you're unhealthy. I know it's raw, but it's the truth. You are too consumed with yourself to even know the difference.

You see, at this close of 2017 you looked to your right and told her:

"I am happy."

See, you're happy because she's the only one you have that truly understands you. How do I know?

Take a good guess, I know you can do it.

I'm guessing there's a good chance that she's feeling exactly the same way, or worse.

You're taking a trip right now. You're stable tonight. Addy is stable tonight. You're driving to Keith's (or writing here on these pages mucking up your handwriting...) to be with your family and friends. Good friends. Going to get ****-faced and hoping to black out.

And you're blessed to have your soulmatage right next to you, smoking chillum **** and "Natural" American Spirit cigarettes, and sipping on Mtn Dew. It's 2:17am, and you're about to ride the Music Express because it is picking up speed. No sleep for you tonight.

Your mind is not clear. Next time you think to divorce your wife, hold onto that thought, because by doing so, you're giving yourself time. Time is key.

If you feel that you should divorce your wife when you're well enough to have a clear perspective, then maybe you should consider it.

Depression and mixed states will lie to you, insidiously, and without mercy. No mercy.

I'm willing to bet at this point, however, that when your demon is back to sleep, if only for a minute, you'll only have to  look to your left while in bed in order to cultivate your prior burning love for her.

For she loves you and you love her ... to death, even beyond your current living death. Rest assured, my good man, that it will end. Just give it time.

Take a break. Go to sleep. Turn off your life for a moment, it'll help. The decision to take your pills is up to you, but consider taking them, too. They will probably help.

Don't forget to hug your wife though.

Good night.
31 December 2017 - I wrote this for myself because I get these negative thoughts when in a bout of bipolar depression, which doesn't last. These thoughts turn into my only reality if only for a short time. I am hoping to stave off the danger of making a rash decision in the midst of an episode.
Jonathan Sawyer Jan 2018
I have a question burning:

. . . . What's the point of living?

My heart is pounding
I'm heavy breathing
My blood is boiling
My face is melting
My hair is pulling
My skin is itching
My nails are hurting
My eyes are clouding
My mouth is drying
My mind is waning
My voice is wailing
My hands are cracking
My stomach is churning
My strength is failing
My care is mortifying
My existence is joking
My work is freezing
My delusions are multiplying
My thoughts are racing
My life is dying
My hopes are groaning
My dreams are poaching
My will power is cooking
My mind's eye is glossing
My mood's-a-changing
No cylinders are firing
My desire is diving
The cycle is beginning
My peace is nuking
Beauty is crumbling
Life's code is encrypting
. . . . No key for decrypting
The way out is blinding
And I'm feeling
. . . . The top of the ceiling
. . . . No more flooring
. . . . Left falling, none for catching
I'm wasting
I'm choking
I'm running
The demons are searching
Me they're consuming
Me they're chewing
Me they're spitting
Me they're crushing
. . . . Causing
. . . . A raining
. . . . Hellfire reckoning
They want me deadening
Me they're taunting
Poking me, torturing
My debt not paying
. . . . It's me they're charging
No recourse, left standing
Consciousness is maddening
My enemies looming
. . . . Gleaning my soul, they're feeding
They're biting
I'm left crying
Hope is fleeting
Friends are fleeing
. . . . This nutcase entertaining
I'm stopping
Left looking
No one is caring
. . . . To grace my being
They see me fading
Cast into the void, they're jeering
Strangers are laughing
There's more I could be saying

But I'm still left wondering:

. . . . What's the point of living?
11 January 2018 - Exactly how I felt at the time. Raw. Emotional. Poignant. This is what a bipolar mixed episode feels like.
Jonathan Sawyer Jan 2018
A new year is come and you're still not gone.

I can feel you creeping up on me. You feed on my energy, yet, I cannot see you. I'm glad I can't see your face.

You smell like an old forgotten rot underneath a seam of doors hiding the old death of forgotten men. Your cousin looms, taunting me to acknowledge your presence.

You climb on my back--you've caught up to me.

I've tried running, it doesn't help. You live under my shadow; you're quiet like him too.

I can hear the smack of your lips graze across my consciousness, your breath--icy. You touch my eyes and they freeze without freezing. The hairs on the back of my head hurt because they stand on end amidst your frozen breath. You make your move and whisper icily into my ear,

. . . . You're nothing.

I almost agree.

. . . . No one loves you.

My wife does! And my daughter too!

. . . . No one wants to hear you speak.

Fine, I'll shut up. I look into a mirror to see my reflection staring back at me. My icy stare sends chills to my bones. Is that really me?

. . . . Yes, you're dead.

Sometimes I feel like it, yeah.

. . . . Nothing matters.

Finally, we agree on something.

. . . . It would be better if you just weren't here.

I begin to cry.

. . . . Remember your daughter, here's a picture.

She's so beautiful. I cry some more.

. . . . You will fail her.

. . . . You have failed her.

. . . . I will consume her.

. . . . You perpetuated this all on your own.

. . . . You're a fraud, seeking pity.

. . . . You're a sorry person, aren't you?

. . . . Feel that burning inside you? This is what happens when you let in the dark passenger.

. . . . I shall consume you, too.


Yes, it is my fault. Like the fault line in the earth's crust, my mind splits in twain.

The excitement ends when I've become drunk with madness, not seeing the light around me. I sleep a little, contemplating all that I convinced myself.

In the morning the sun is out, shining through the window. You're still sleeping though, dear dark passenger. I try not to wake you. I seek the sun hoping you will disappear and take your darkness with you, but you persevere, keeping your hands at the ready until I am vulnerable again, waiting to make my dance to the tune of hopelessness--always just, "one more time."
6 January 2018 - My take on bipolar depression, the dark passenger. My biggest struggle is what it does to me, using my daughter as a pawn to dig the deepest abyss my imagination can create; I cast myself in. She's both my shining star and my worst despair, because I fear the dark passenger will take her, too.
Jonathan Sawyer Jan 2018
Mania. Everything was good when you were with me.

I felt normal. The chains bolted to my eyelids where magically gone, like the money in your bank account after a heavy, drunken, stupor & forthright gambling spree.

The spear in my side that your twin brother, depression, threw inside me was no longer twisting up my insides. Thank you.

This feels like a goodbye letter but I'm actually trying to hold on to you. You give me life. Your twin takes it away and he rash-burns my face in it.

I was accomplishing all the things; skipping from one stone to the next without feat. "Flutter your wings and dance," is your motto.

But like all good things, you drive me away, knowing that I'll see you again.

Try as I might, I remain faithful to you, but you commit adultery every week.

Sometimes you demand my time, even when I'm low. I cry for hours with your natural dichotomy, not because I can't decide--I can--but because you and your twin rip me apart in twain, changing my reality as sure as the rain falls in the Amazon.

The demons call out to me, whispering evil into my mind. I believe every evil thing when I am not armed with your brilliance. I lose that perspective, every time, and sometimes immediately.

Your twin brother and cousin visit me early in the morning right before bed time. If my doubts and fears are real, then my mind's eye is experiencing a real reality, and thus I am as I feel, like a plastic bag tumbling in the wind.

Yet, everyone reminds me that I am but a joke and a comic, one which not even you can trust.

The biggest asset I lose when you choose to cheat on me is your energy--that precious flow that bears my creative passion.

But now I am barren, an unfit conduit that is incapable of maintaining that flow. The demon upon me powerfully weaves its tapestry of sludge that encases my mind.

My mind, it's the only thing I have left. And yet, I can never trust it.

You've lied to me before and you'll lie to me in the future.

But for now, I'll have to make do with your half-truths.

Until next time.
30 December 2017 - My brain-dump on bipolar mania during an episode of depression. I am a rapid cycler and I deal with the ups and downs of bipolar disorder teetering on hypomania and depression every couple of weeks, often falling prey to the mixed state, ripping my mind through the heartbeats of time.
Jonathan Sawyer Dec 2017
Not constantly in the torrent of your mind
do you find ease in the pulse of reality
where your fingers get a break from the heavy weight of your soul
hanging off a cliff at 20 below

My best friend!
Today we will get all the things done
and shown to be efficacious in life
only to climb up from the cliff
and then to bear witness to the depths below

My worst enemy!
In the mire of the pit I lay, motionless
molasses encases my mind and therefore my body also
no will power to fight that arduous fight
ready to end all that is and all that shall be

The ride!
On this roller coaster, I muster the energy,
somehow, made it through spell after spell
the grievance my own mind has against all that I am
which allows these words to boil a sweet tea
29 December 2017 - Bipolar is a constant, painful battle, though somehow it finds a way to make your life worth living, until next time.

— The End —