You never know
The deafening crush
Of silence until it's right in front of you
Unblinking and unmoving
Gathering your soul and
Scattering it like dust on the
Dirt covered ground
Laughing at your misery
Jeering with hollow lips
Pitted eyes seeming to
Peer into your deepest crevice
The silence is crushing
Eardrums are shattering
Erie chills creep up your
Spine at a deathly pace
The noxious air slipping
Into your lungs at
Marching over your heart
Like soldiers in the regime
Until it becomes a part of you
Never being able to differentiate
Between what is you and
What is it
Corporeal and incorporeal
Bodies twine as one the two combine
In a sickly manner
The relationship that of parasitism
Taking years to remove the parasite called
Medication helping the bonds to break
Shatter and loosen
The death grip it can have
Don't underestimate the power and effect
Silence will have
His endless fall of tears slip through the space between her delicate glass fingers, drop by drop falling on to the white cushion
A chirping tune swims through the moss covered wall
He remembers that tune, that tune he fell for so very quickly
He wonders how this tune always kept the same floral melody but would adjust its harmony to converse with his thoughts, those thoughts that would try to sew through to his speech, never showing thread, only a thin needle
His tears have now formed a puddle, but foolishly he does not pay the slightest attention to this ever so growing puddle
She whispers "pour yourself a drink you will feel better"
He listens and soon he has a drink in his left hand
He takes a sip, his lips burn, the liquid feels like grains of sand to his throat
The drink has now dampened his thoughts, the threads are now wet, the fibers are separating
The tears still fall drop by drop but now he is oblivious to the tears
His room is now an aquarium of sorrow and the floral tune is muffled by the salt water
The girl hopes to dilute the growing salt water with her bitter desert alcohol but soon they will both drown in their concoction of tears and liquor
I used to be crazy
I used to walk on the edge of the fence like a tight rope
And for my height that was incredible
I did things in the daytime
That the neighbors whisper today "What happened to her?"
I wasn't confronting these until it was described to me the things I used to do
Walk around the house naked
Laughed at broccoli like they just told me a joke
Pee in my sleep
This insanity is what haunts me today
Like I could snap at any instance and lose my mind
My brother helped me through it
He would wake me up everyday for 3 months straight
"Write your answers here" to questions he prepared
1. What do you plan to do today? Sex
2. Who do you prefer, Betty or Veronica? Sex
3. What do you want to eat today? Sex
I did it to disturb them, I thought
I'm realizing it wasn't the case
I was a basketcase
And I was accepting every crazed moment as a new and exciting prospect
Alienating family and friends
While the insanity was creeping up the thread of my mind like osmosis
A dose of Aripiprazole
I hated it
I hated it until I couldn't function without it
Like it was a crutch and I was a cripple
I could barely walk 3 days before my brother wedding
1 month after I had secretly decided it wasn't medication I needed but discipline
2 days before I walked like I was drained of life
1 day before I was on 10mg
On the day of the wedding
I was surely not just faking it
It was real
The insanity was not a fluke
Mental health can be sick
And sickness can be medicated
So I hate you for saying this is all made up
I hate you for saying that there are rich people and poor people
And the difference is that one is depressed and the other just has no more will to live
The difference is the money they have to afford medication
I'm wondering how to be myself
When I was young it was easy to be complicated
Now that I'm older I've realized my bad habits are hard to give up
Simplifying is hard
Life is hard already
Then you have to add an unhealthy brain
This is the reason I hate rainbows, color, and pain
"As the sun and moon
aligned in the sky,
they illuminated each other's shine.
And the closer to each other they moved,
the brighter they shined,
and the higher the fire
inside of us grew.
As we raced through the days
on that fling,
each footprint we laid
blazed away that piece
of the earth's entire lifetime of beauty
in the brief second it touched our feet,
leaving nothing but ashes beneath us.
Until we had no ground left to stand on
and nowhere left to flee.
And now that we've turned away
from our fire
to face the days that remained
unburned by the flames,
and learn to gaze at them
through sane eyes
one day at a time.
We can look back at our book
with clear sight
and give it the ending
that we never got the chance to write.
And while I know it's too late
to pick up the ripped-up pages,
I will admit,
I still think of our little prince.
And sometimes I go outside
and look up at the sky
and think about what planet
he might've gone back to after he died.
Then I imagine the three of us
living up there as a family
in another lifetime.
But for now, you have your own life,
and I have mine.
And we have to live them
the way we would have
if we could go back to the day
we conceived our child
and were able to see what
our manic eyes were blind to at the time.
When the sun and moon finally came
as close as they could be
and the fire inside us rose
to its highest peak,
it leaped past
the fading ashes of our flesh
to burn our love into eternity,
through our baby.
That eternal flame
that could blaze brighter
than our manic one ever could
on its brightest mania days,
but that would also sustain. "
The medication isn’t working. I’ve tried to explain to the concerned faces, but the weight has worn me to silence. I tried my best to give the Prozac a shot, but it was like tying a helium balloon to the top of a boulder; the effort makes for a pretty sentiment, but the burden remains unmoved.
The heaviness makes my brain move slowly, my smiles infrequent, turns my words into mumbles. I try to think about when this all started, to reach through the fuzz of time past and memories lost. The concerned faces encourage me to look back and find the ‘why’, to find the big bang of the world that I carry upon my shoulders.
I remember flashes and feelings, times where things felt normal, where the apples were shiny and red, crunching between my teeth. There was a time when I trusted the less-concerned-at-the-time faces to help me carry the weight, which used to be far less heavy, the balloon rather than the boulder. However, no matter how hard I try, I cannot pinpoint the precise time when the heaviness became solely my own.
The medication isn’t working, but there is some part of me that keeps searching for that Heracles drug that’s going to build my pillars again, that’s finally going to help me stand up straight. Maybe it’s hope, maybe it’s actually the Prozac, afterall - hell, maybe it’s just naivety - but I’m going to keep trying, and for now, that has to be enough.
I hear her scream
I hear her tiny footsteps in the
Her shallow breathing speeds up
She is an empty shell of the person I knew
Her soft skin that used to soothe me is abused by her confusion
Her mumbles fill the air and her eyes are an empty abyss
Day after day living with an empty shell
She is nothing but a shell
I spend day after day
Searching for her
Pill after pill
Doctors’ appointments left and right
Until I eventually found her
With tears in my eyes I found her and realized I never wanted to lose her again
I am over this "happiness is a mindset"-"find a love that makes you forget you were ever depressed"-"medication changes your personality"-"just think happy thoughts"-"have you tried yoga?" bullshit.
Nowadays, everyone has self diagnosed depression- and won't shut up about it.
And now when I say "I've had manic-depression and was diagnosed with it when I was 9." what most people think I mean was "I need attention, and I have to be like everybody else."- tumblr is my life- bullshit.
Happiness is a mindset that I was never wired to have, and I am not in control of changing the programming from the inside. I cannot forget that I was ever depressed, when I have known depression since I took my first breath of fresh air out of the womb- as if it's woven into the very fabric of my skin- and I know my skin about as well as I know myself and I've been stuck with both my entire life- an invisible twin that I never fucking asked for. Sure, medication changes my personality-. It makes me function like a normal human being, instead of one that wants to swallow all of those pills and stop breathing- for no reason other than a lack of the same chemicals you can find in that pill that I take into my mouth and swallow every day as if it is my soul that I am swallowing, and not a chalky, white tablet. I cannot think happy thoughts when that it a language that I do not speak and no matter how I have tried to learn, I just can't seem to get the grammatical structure correct- don't even get me started about conjugating verbs because my depression prevents me from doing a goddamn thing anyways. I cannot just do some fucking yoga, because all that does is make my body stronger- it cannot alter and rewire my brain to suddenly do something it's never done, and I cannot begin to tell you all of the ways my therapist and I have tried to figure out a way to wave a magical fucking wand and suddenly I'm cured, and how my therapist definitely is not a fucking fairy, and my psychiatrist is really just my potions master, how I've been on damn near every kind of pill, how those pills have kept me alive, how if I miss even one dose, suddenly I imagine how jumping off of a building is the exact way that I want to end this agony- but with no reason to jump, nothing pushing me. Except maybe the fact that having manic depression, gives me more depression- like a never ending plant that just is.. always in fucking season, and boy do I have some fucking allergies.
I cannot begin to tell you how it felt to be 9 years old when my father sat me down and asked me point blank "Honey- you look sad, all the time. Why are you sad?" and bursting into tears like a water fountain bursting a pipe and saying "Daddy, I don't know. I just am. I always am."
The skeleton on my shirt that matches
The pain in my head as
Letters pop up on my phone I cannot read
Behind me and
The more I fight my medication that
Whispers to me
"Sleep. Morning will come. The day is done. Smile."
The more I fidget and
The more I write and
The more I cry has it
Screaming to me and
I faint knowing I am nothing more than
Pills in bottles.