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.
. . . . --AND IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT.
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.