Bipolar Poetry - Tumblr Posts
When have I ever been first?
A question for the ages.
As a tot in my mothers arms,
I was still only second
To the plants she kept on the sill,
And as I grew I became second
To various things more;
To the state of the house,
To income and money,
To my older, healthier sister,
To my father and his "quirks".
No room to call my own,
No privacy to speak of,
No emotions allowed past curfew.
I thought that maybe,
When I'm out,
It'll be over,
But it only gets worse.
My health is secondary
To various whims,
My sleep is secondary
To deafening hymns,
My suffering is secondary
To what's displayed on the screen,
And no emotions allowed past curfew.
Sure, I am primary for myself.
This would be nice, if not for
How Ill I am,
And the fact that i cannot
Prioritize myself, since i cannot
Do everything myself,
And so I'm dependent
On being the top priority
Of external persons
Who never prioritized me once.
Of those who walk past me,
Often looking through.
The pain never ceases.
They say my condition is characterized
By infinite ups and downs,
But I have been going downhill
Forever more;
For when the depression hits I am static,
Drowned by my own despair,
Incapable of resisting the current
That violently pulls me lower and lower,
And when the mania hits
I am trapped in quicksand,
Uncontrollably thrashing and flailing
As I am pulled under.
What I never get to do is breathe -
Feel the fresh air fill my lungs -
I am suffocating just by existing at all,
And always they tell me
That life will turn around,
And yet it's been almost 30 years
With no change in direction.
Staying alive is getting harder by the day.
Having the faith that life is worth living
Is impossible
For the likes of me.
For if the days fail to feel brighter,
And the abyss seems endless
And devoid of an exit,
What could possibly be the point?
I eat my food that tastes like garbage,
I wash my skin, which feels like shit.
An endless cycle and yet somehow,
I am lower every day.
I listen to my music that no longer sounds good.
I watch the TV series just to have some noise.
But no amount of pretending will normalize me -
No amount of pretending will make me alive.
No amount of pretending will give life any flavour...
None,
At all.