“Bipolar robs you of that which is you. It can take from you the very core of your being and replace it with something that is completely opposite of who and what you truly are. Because my bipolar went untreated for so long, I spent many years looking in the mirror and seeing a person I did not recognize or understand. Not only did bipolar rob me of my sanity, but it robbed me of my ability to see beyond the space it dictated me to look. I no longer could tell reality from fantasy, and I walked in a world no longer my own.”—Alyssa Reyans, Letters from a Bipolar Mother (via shadowdaysareover)
Sometimes I coast very, very highly off anger/hate. Unless I’m drinking I never feel much, but after major outbursts I feel euphoria. It’s like that crazy laughter brought on by staying awake far too long with a dispersal of something able to make the body shiver and quake in ecstasy.
Laud the sin and quench desire, a lapping tongue seeks outpouring of sympathy and understanding, as dogs will whilst cowering in the doorway. Meekly we die, roughly the same rate, but for reasons all our own. Meekly and weakly, purling bad decision into knit funeral shroud with nimble fingers aged by cigarettes and nervous wringing. The hate I thought I felt is not genuine, it is flawed, but maybe that’s the saving grace. I was not meant to hate things the way I do, the way an old senile man does, with only hatred discernible amongst ramble of injustice long since gone.
Will you stay after summer, will you stay with me once you’re gone away? Glassy eyed adoration and hand laid cross my chest. Satiated I looked at you, quiet ‘yes’ more halting than I’d like. You gave me something I thought I needed and I took it sparingly and first, then angrily as one kept pent…