I would like to share three poems I wrote about Bipolar Disorder. The first one was written while I was feeling psychiatrically normal but very sad. The second was written at the beginning of a manic episode. The third was written during a very depressed evening, on the tail end of a mixed state day.
So, Bipolar Traitor, you tried to steal my life.
I thought that you were me.
I thought we understood each other.
I thought that I was you.
Guess what, you Double Crosser?
You cannot have my life.
I will still grow up,
I will still have fun,
And my world will be beautiful.
I cannot understand you.
Words hit my head and scramble.
And everything's too much--too much!
And I cannot slow down.
My thoughts are swirling,
They make me sick; I cannot watch.
But I'm not crazy.
I'm still me.
Everything is dark.
The world is naught but one big night.
Everything is dead.
Dead things start to smell, you know.
And then the stench envelops you:
You cannot think, you cannot move.
What does it matter?
You and I--we're both dead too.
Lie back down and let it come.
Death could be our friend.