Sometimes when I'm hypo-manic, I clean my room, do an art project, play the guitar or write on my blog. Other times I'm quick to anger and can be violent.
Always I'm restless, and my skin feels like it's crawling.
And some days, I guess my mania can look like this.
He did it to me again.
Tricked me.
Let me think I was okay,
that today was good,
that I was someone who mattered.
He let me think that I looked pretty
in my cut-off shorts
and sparkly tights.
Why
Why does he do this to me?
He let me walk all the way
to the cafe,
past the house where I used to live
past the construction workers on break
Strutting to Christina:
"do what you want, what you want with [her] body"
The minute I saw James I knew
I had made a mistake
I let him trick me
Let me think I was okay,
that today was good,
that I was someone who mattered.
And James noticed right away
Who wouldn't?
Who couldn't see that the beast had me
where he wanted me?
James and I talked about life
the future
our relationships
and the whole time
the beast muttered under his breath
Who did you think you were?
What were you thinking when you got dressed this morning?
That you were invincible? That you were flawless? That you were special?
He made me spend the rest of the day regretting
The beast, not James
Regretting that I woke up this morning
That I wore my cut-off shorts
and my sparkly tights
That I started a blog and shared him,
the beast
with the world.
Sitting on the bus with my notebook and pen
he forces my hand.
Do you think that you're special, Isabel?
Do you?
Do you think anyone cares?
Do you?
DO. YOU. THINK.
He scolds me like a parent does a child
And the worst part is
he's right.
I'm nothing, I'm no one
And there's not anybody that feels the least bit sorry
Not even my beast.
I am nothing with him
I'll surely be nothing without him
And I can't write for shit
I can't write for fucking shit
I can't write
I just want to scream
I just want to scream
throw up
or both.
Today my beast convinced me that I was invincible
I was invincible and I was hot and I could wear whatever I wanted
My beast convinced me that I was special and that I had something to offer other people
And then he took that all away and made me hate myself
He convinced me I was so small
I was insignificant
I wasn't even there
He made me desperate
Desperate to be seen, to be heard, to be acknowledged
So desperate
I thought about death.
So desperate I thought about ending it.
Ending everything.
That would show you, right? Show you all?
Show you all that I'm interesting
That I'm worth paying attention to
That I'm worth something.
Tomorrow is the last day of my medication. I will be done, it will be over.
And then Thursday, it starts all over again.
I won't be interesting
I won't have a beast
I will be numb.
Alive and numb.
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You are hot in your cut-off shorts and sparkly tights :)
ReplyDeleteThe story about the women who threw herself out of a car window reminded me of my mother. Sometimes I forget that her mania was just as confusing to a child as her darker days. I used to be convinced that her overwhelming sadness was something I would "grow into" one day like an inevitable inheritance. I still think that sometimes. It's usually the days I forget we have choices.
I'm so grateful for your blog. It's a different gift for so many people. Thanks for helping me understand :)
Haha, thanks. My roommate Katie called it my manic outfit, and I think I appreciate that my mania draws out the fashionista in me. :)
ReplyDeleteI'm so sorry that you had to grow up in the shadows of your mother's illness. The suffering of those with the illness is easier to measure, than those of their loved ones. And while bipolar is supposed to have genetic ties, you're lucky that it isn't a guarantee.
Thank you for reading and for all of your support!