Dear Bipolar

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

A letter written to Bipolar Disorder, from the perspective of someone who has it.

Dear Bipolar, 
When the smoke clears, and I am left breathless from the fight against my diseases, you will be left. 
We have forever stood in a show down, fingers twitching over the trigger.
I've spent too much time hoping you would pull it.
I've never felt like I was treading water. It's always hand around my ankles pulling me under.
If I tried to breath, my lungs would fill with water.
Even fighting you would kill me. 
There are days of, "I can't eat this." My fingers became my only friends as I pray over the holy thrown. 
CC: The depression, that literally makes me sick to my stomach. 
I wish I could say I was sick and tired of throwing up, but I'm just sick and tired.
CC: The anxiety, that brings me back to the surface only to feel the torture of the crashing waves. 
All I want is to breath, and all I can feel is the crushing pressure on my chest. 
But you, my dear bipolar, you helped me catch the waves.
I can see the sun enough to think I can live off it. 
So I decide to do exactly that. I stop eating, I start people pleasing...
My work literally consumes me. 
Every second has to be filled or this feeling will end. Oh God, please don't let this feeling end.
I'm so tired, let this feeling end. Just give me an hour of rest, maybe a day, maybe a week.
No, I can't get out of bed. 
Bipolar, why do you do this to me? Bipolar, I thought you loved me.
You gave me creativity, and art, and a unique personality, but now I'm tired, and I'm so tired of being tired.
Bipolar, I'm not sure if I actually want to die. I'm not sure if I'll ever be comfortable around food. 
CC: Poetry, I'm so grateful for you. 
CC: Photography, I've always loved you.
CC: My unique personality, we have a love hate relationship.
You're really cool though. I really like you.
And Bipolar, I know you're just the aftermath of my trauma, but you have to know that I'm done hating myself. 
If I'm going to have to spend my whole life with you, we might as well get along. 
For you, I will get all of the toxic people out of my life. 
I will eat well and keep it down. 
I won't hurt my beautiful skin. 
I will write more poetry and make more art. 
Bipolar, you aren't a death sentence. I just made you one.

Submitted: August 18, 2015

© Copyright 2022 Katya Yermakova . All rights reserved.

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