I am afraid of the monster whose shadow twists and bends across the walls in my mind and has settled too comfortably into my bones.
I wonder if anyone knows that it’s killing me.
I hear them sigh when I panic over silly things and
I see the downturn in their facial expressions – their disappointment when I constantly mess things up.
I want them to understand that I am trying so bloody hard to survive each moment through the blackness, the hopelessness, and the suffocating despair.
I am doing as good as I can but,
I pretend that I’m doing much better.
I feel too much and it cuts into me deeply as if the world around me is layered with shards of glass.
I touch its rough edges and watch myself bleed; staining the floors crimson red. Every day I lose more and more of myself.
I worry that one day there will be nothing left of me and
I cry because I used to be somebody.
I am KIMBERLY! Now I don’t know who that is.
I understand that this will pass. It always passes they say and
I say f*ck that because bipolar disorder never just passes. It is a ride that you can never get off of. Over and over and over. I continue to ride this hell.
I dream of cars driving into walls, into intersections, off of bridges, into the backs of my legs, but then
I try to stop. I try to breathe and then I try to find the bits and pieces that will keep me going just a little bit longer. I hold on to them. My anchors. My loves.
Even though they don’t get why I freak out over making a choice between two cereal boxes or why I get quiet or why I don’t want to be around big crowds or why I am forgetful or why or why or why,
I hope that they know that when
I am not ok that they are all that I have to help me survive this.