To be blunt,
her mind was a fucking bully.
It tormented her with the worst of all thoughts,
over and over,
every fucking day of her life.
And when your mind is treating you less than human,
this affects your body in terrible ways also.
She was constantly riddled with thoughts of hatred and anger,
sadness and worthlessness,
and this lead to dreaded anxiety.
Of course this began to change her body in a negative manner.
and never able to shake it.
Fight or flight, baby, and she was losing woefully.
She was somewhat of a savage at heart.
Always with a thirst for blood,
a thirst for destruction – whether it be of herself or another’s soul.
She didn’t trust anyone,
not as far as she could fucking throw them.
The story of her life so far had been betrayal,
and her being smashed and crushed,
while she tried to reassemble the damage others had done to her.
She didn’t have any fucking time for that shit anymore.
It was time to be a savage.
to show everyone that she is done with their fuckery.
Sometimes I feel like I can’t do it anymore.
I can’t be happy.
No matter how hard I try.
I can’t fight the endless suffering and the sleepless nights.
Years and years put into my mental health.
Only to play me the fool.
Because Bipolar doesn’t go away, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
I am ruled by my illness and I want nothing more than to literally run for the hills.
Welcome to insomnia.
Where your muscles ache so very deeply, and your eyes burn.
Where your head throbs with pain, and also endless thoughts.
When touched by insomnia, you tend to find yourself at the lowest possible place you can be.
When you go for countless nights without being able to have a proper sleep, you tend to realise a few harsh truths.
Hours spent waiting to fall asleep, and when it finally happens, it’s so light that it feels as though you weren’t sleeping at all.
Hours spent pondering life’s ins and outs, then waking up in the morning and feeling like sleep has eluded you entirely.
It may have taken her years upon years,
but she had finally realised she only needed to believe in herself to face her fears.
All she needed was herself and confidence to thrive,
and now life wasn’t just about trying to survive.
Goals and dreams coming into action,
much to some’s dismay and her satisfaction.
Life was stable now and that seemed kind of crazy,
but she knew she deserved this shit because she certainly had not been lazy.
I am not my mental illness, no matter what effect it has on my life.
I am not, nor will ever be, defined by Bipolar Disorder, PTSD, Panic Disorder or Agoraphobia.
Of course, they are all reasons why I am the way I am, but they are not the sole reasons.
What people forget when it comes to mental illness is that the person has a personality, as well.
Some people choose to let their mental illness be an excuse for their behaviour, a reason for how they are – but I am not one of those people.
Mental illness is a part of my life, not my life entirely.
What wretched creatures we are.
We destroy what’s in our desired path, and label it as being a go-getter, or just opinionated.
Humans.. The worst of all animals.
What’s more sickening, is that we’re so fucking self righteous that we believe we’re doing good.
I mean, we truly believe it!
How wrong we all are.
There is nothing normal about the life we are living – any of us, and that’s just how it is.
Unfortunately, we’ve ‘evolved’ into creatures that strive to be better than one another, rather than build them up.
We seek knowledge, only for our own benefit and not for the purpose of sharing it.
We no longer have the tribe mentality that humans were originally created with.