Mixed

Don’t know what to think nor how to feel,

it’s as if I’ve been given a raw deal. 

So I beg and I plead for a life kindness,

only to be met with my mind as a bewildering mess.

Fighting the bad and treasuring the good, 

doing whatever I’m told – doing whatever I should. 

And with voices in my mind mixing me up,

I honestly don’t know what to do because I lot of the time, they scream “Give the fuck up!”.

Shit

It’s hard to function when you don’t know what you’re feeling,

hard to breathe when you just want your heart to stop beating. 

Ramble and a half

Am I in Wonderland, am I in Underland, or am I simply in reality – with feelings I have not felt before? 

For you see, I’ve fallen far down a depressive tunnel, then suddenly grown awfully tall with thoughts of self love and gratification. It is a confusing state to be in, to say the least. 

A Bipolar Mixed State. 

So it has a name, but I don’t know what to do about it. I am so very bewildered whilst in this mindset. 

So it’s reality, I suppose – but that of a manic depressant. 

Pill Count

The pill count is continually fluctuating;

much like my mood, it would appear.

It all started with one at 14 years of age. Xanax. 

My madness worsened, and I was in a somewhat zombie like state when I was on my one drug. 

Then came my diagnosis of Bipolar Disorder, two years later. 

I was just 16 then and I am 24 now, and let me tell you – I have lost count of how many drugs I have been on since being given my multiple diagnoses. 

At one point, I was on 13 pills a night. 

And it’s a feeling like no other to look down into the palm of your hand and see a multitude of drugs, sitting there waiting to be consumed. 

Years later, and I’m on 8 pills per day now. 

And it still fucking hurts to look at the amount that is there. 

Swimming

So imagine you’re swimming one day, everything is fine and you feel good. But then a wave hits you and sends you tumbling under water. Suddenly, it hurts to breathe, and the harder you try, the more difficult it becomes – much like any other simple task. You try to swim upward, you kick and you scream for help but no one can hear you, because you’re under water, and it feels like you’re simply not strong enough save yourself from the crashing waves of thoughts and depressive ideations. You attempt to splutter out the truth of how you feel while you drown, but to no avail. It’s as though no one can hear you. 

This is what it feels like when you’re really suffering from Depression and Anxiety disorders. Like you cannot breathe, you cannot speak, there is no one to help you and there is certainly no damn escape, no matter how hard you try. 

But know this; the ones who keep swimming despite the very real fear of drowning in mental illness, do come out on top, for they learn to swim time and time again. 

Destination Unknown

I’ve always yearned to run far away, 

to a place without a soul in sight.

Perhaps a sunny beach, 

maybe a luscious field. 

The destination is not important. 

I just need to get away.

Can’t stand the pain.

Can’t stand humanity.

Can’t stand to live a fucking lie anymore.

Small Poem

Let the dust settle and let the tears fall,

for not everyone is meant to have it all.

But that’s not to say things won’t get better,

and that’s not to say you can’t achieve your dreams, or be a go-getter. 

It just comes down to how you perceive you,

and how you handle yourself when you begin to feel blue. 

So don’t fret, don’t worry, oh don’t stress,

just strive and intend to do your best. 

Fuck You

And there’s no fucking word to describe the way I feel about you.

I fucking despise you with everything I have. 

You fucked me up for your own benefit. Your own sickening, disgusting benefit. 

And you don’t give a fuck. 

Or maybe you don’t know that when someone says “no”, they fucking mean it. 

So now here I am. Hating you, loathing you, wanting nothing more than for you to receive the same treatment I did, that night. 

I want you to wake up and realise that you will never be the fucking same again, because someone just stole your dignity, they took it and crushed it into dust, all without your fucking consent. 

Lost

I’m not sure at what point I lost myself again, and I certainly don’t know what caused it.

I cannot recognise my reflection in the mirror, once more.  I am not me. My eyes are hazy and greener than usual, which is generally an indicator of deep sadness or poisonous anger. 

I have succumbed to the hellish depths of depression and successfully hidden that fact from everyone around me.

And I have no choice but to keep hiding how I truly feel, because I can’t let anyone down anymore. 

It Ain’t Weak To Speak

A billion thoughts and not one of them matters.

Colliding into one another always, but it doesn’t matter.

Voices in my head shouting the worst at me and not one of them matters.

The shouts are deafening at times, but it doesn’t matter.

It’s agony, it’s torture, it’s mental illness at it’s peak. 

But I just have to remember, it ain’t weak to speak.