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it's starting.
A slight burn in my eyes. The tears, gathering. My heartbeat, irregular. My legs, weaken. My hands, tingle.
it builds
what do I do?
should I try to fight it or will it be good for me to let it out?
when will someone notice?
is this all in my head?
everything get's blurry.
I feel nothing and I feel everything.
the shaking begins.
I start to mumble, audibly, though I try my best to fight it.
the world get's muted, the voices yell louder.

and now, I have to wait it out
one of my anxiety attacks
I am 23 years old, and I can still feel it.
My past lingers over me, and hangs in the room like a thick cloud.
It engulfs me, and holds me tighter than I would like.
I am 23 years old, and I can still feel it.
Feel what you ask.
I can feel the room.
The four blank walls with a thick coat of dark paint.
Sadness and fear are the only things that hang on these walls.
I feel the coldness and the emptiness that contains the room.
They join me as I sit on the single object in the room.
I am 23 years old, and I can hear it.
Hear what you ask.
I can hear the foot prints of the individual household members.
I can tell you the exact point that they are located in the room.
I can tell you what mood they are in.
I can hear their voices, and their whispers about me.
I can hear how close they are.
Sometimes, I can hear the crisp sound of the lock being moved.
My shuffles into the darkness echo in the room.
My silent pleads of escaping can be heard running around the room.
I am 23 years old, and I can still smell it.
I can still smell the sour stench of the room.
The smell coats the room.
It drapes itself on every crevice.
I can smell myself, after being trapped here for days.
I can smell the sickness from my stomach, because I haven't ate for days.
I can smell the individual tears that have kissed the floor.
I can smell the blood from one too many beatings.
I am 23 years old, and it will forever haunt me.
The memories of being in this room are old, but they will stick with me forever.
They never hesitate to welcome me with open arms.
They taunt me whenever they please.  
I am 23 years old, and I cannot escape it.
I am concerned
Just not supportive
I see the bigger picture
And it wasn’t so ‘Gorgeous’

Matter fact
I can see my whole life
New found clarity,
So I actually see
A little bit of happy
and a lot of strife

I found what I thought I wanted in you
But it turns out you were just following cues
Set by me, so arbitrary
Because when I wasn’t there
You realized you should have just stared
At the last modicum of beauty
I had

So now I am left
With this empty space in my chest
And a set of diagnosis,
Of which pain is the best

****’s easy to treat
[My] Insomnia’s a greater feat
Just pop a pill,when I feel ill
From standing on the window sill
And let it distract from the pain

I may not seem stable
But sure as four right angles
on a ******* square table,
I’m fine

So four grams of Special K
I will take, to self medicate
Until I feel like a layer of sediment

But I assure you, this is helping
A doctor told me so
Bit of a rewrite, to tidy up the language. I do not usually do this, because I use poetry as a tool to make myself get my feelings out and hopefully feel relief from them. And I believe the original publication is largely influenced by actual feelings, and not just subsequent pangs of insecurity. Anyways, here it is.
I fell off and got up.
I ran away and found more junk.
Nothing's ever fixed and corrected because there's always more problems than what you expected.
But will you understand?
Will you cope?
Or will the chains of past have the last laugh when you made a promise to say no more?

Can these patterns continue or will there be a change?
It seems to me you have an understanding,  yet you act so deranged and estranged.
It's worse than our lockdown,
Yet that gave me more answers then than now.
It's like finding the rhyme to orange and then more and more words begin to pour and overflow, overload, self implode
Then no more...

There's an understanding to our problems and it's like a conspiracy,
We fear it in theory but really is it worth believing?
It's not complex as you think,
But it's not as easy as turning off the sink.
We find ourselves fighting more with our thoughts than the ******* government on what we can and what we cannot.

Understandings cannot be prevented, so fly with it and seek more truth. Otherwise you'll be nothing more than a buffoon. And that's on you...
Covid seems bad, but has shown us our ugly.
Do you see me?
Can you hear me?
I am right here!
I am screaming and flailing
Fighting not to be consumed by the storm
Barraged by waves of sorrow
Pockets full of fear, heavy as rocks
Slowly sinking below the surface
Cries muffled by claps of thunder
I am begging for help

You didn't see me in time
I am swallowed by a sea of apathy
Enveloped in cold, dark misery
You won't hear me now
Because I won't yell anymore
I am sunken in this trench of despair
The second stanza should be two font sizes smaller for impact
Andy Chunn Jun 25
Lonely words cling to weak fabrics
Of shallow and wasted minds
Like the free flowing of life
From a blood stained fountain.

Temples of direction and aim
Empty their contents into the fury arms
Of helpless longing, needs, desires,
That lure the man to mankind.

“Can I help you -- Let me help you.”
He looked through me kindly, lonely
With but a fleeting fire,
Shook his head, and walked away.
Sakura 5d
Please, i can't breathe
I can't breathe under the weight of your sins
I'm hungry because you snatched my land
I'm thirsty because you adulterated my well
I'm poor because you robbed me
I'm dead because you killed me
You , yes you are that devil
You are that sinner
You Bloodthirsty people are heavier than people who are thirsty for life
Your sins are heavier than our hopes for living
Please , I can't breathe
I can't breathe under the weight of your sins
Please loose your grip
It feels suffocating
I can't breathe
I can't breathe under the weight of your sins
I'm caught in the devil's grasp
Please , help me
I can't breathe
Humanity died under the weight of atrocity.
Ice-cold needles ***** my bare skin
I gaze up at the metal shower head,
Hissing like a million rattlesnakes
She is the only one who pities me
Washing my hair with her tears,
Cooling my scorched skin.

I fantasize a tender loving lover
Embracing me from behind
Whispering sweet nothings
Holding, swaying, rocking me
Until the water grows warm,
Rejuvenating my heart and mind.

But it's not like that; not today
The dream is ever so far away
I am alone in this weeping glass box
Punishing myself for my shortcomings
Hating myself for ever speaking
The remedy for pain is more pain.

Water streams down my cheeks, my neck
No one will ever know that I am crying.
These days, I find comfort and solace in the shower.
CAL Oct 16
i'm so sorry
i thought i knew i wanted this
but it's starting to look like
the only thing i love is my own inconsistence
there's so much more yo this but i cant keep my head straight enough to remember it
Mariana Oct 15
Friends and family often ask me what suffering from bipolar is like
I always give the same cookie-cutter response.
It is comprised of really high highs
It also has really low lows and
If you are fortunate enough you have periods of baseline.
I  have never been able to explain that complexity in my head.
I was never been able to explain the pain and suffering that has been happening for over 8 years.

I was never able to explain that the lows are sometimes last months or years of hate and self-loathing.
I was never able to explain the thought never stops you can not eat, sleep, or breathe without feeling pain.
I was never able to explain that you feel like your drowning and
       you are using all your energy to stay afloat that it is easier to just give up some time and sink.
I was never able to explain that everything is spinning out of control that you cling on to anything you can.
I was never able to explain that the hurtful thing I caused to myself
       was out of survival to show to myself I could still control
               something, anything in a place that feels like you will never feel stable again.

I was never able to explain how the highs are not highs they are a
  monster dressed as an angle that seduces you to believe that things are better.
I was never able to explain how that demon pushes you past all your limits until you find yourself alone and drained.
I was never able to explain the addiction to the feeling of happiness that comes on occasions with the highs
I was never able to explain that after living in darkness for so long the high is all you can ask for even if you know it will hurt you.

If I had to explain to people now what it is like to suffer from bipolar disorder is like, I would say it is exhausting.
The thoughts never end.
They never stop no matter how depressed or manic you are.
You lie awake all night because you can not silence them.
You wake up before sunrise because your awoken by the racing of the thoughts.
Your brain never stops.
You are left on the floor immobilized unable to do anything but listen to your head feeding you lies.
You are left with a body that can no longer function.
You are left exhausted and that feeling never goes away.
If I had to describe bipolar disorder in one word it would be
Exhaustion
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