Mental Health · Poetry · Random thoughts

Mental Illness Returns

Healthy me seems to have a lack of words,
When I get sick they emerge,
I can finally purge.
Pouring over me like the Atlantic,
Flooding the Titanic,
The words can be spoken,
Once I am broken.

Mania defeats,
I have to retreat,
Pinch it in,
Like a turtle poking out my ass,
Else I wipe,
And be covered in my own mess…
…I digress.

I’d been good for some time,
Even without the words, I was fine,
I had my art,
How far back did it start?
I didn’t see the signs,
Perhaps seeking comfort is where it began,
I know better than thinking I deserved to be touched,
I was asking too much.

Obsessing on illness,
Unable to find stillness,
Vacillating from 3 to 12 hours of sleep,
Then I started becoming a creep,
All it took was one trigger,
One small exchange
For it to became clear,
The beast was here.

Is my mental illness to blame,
Or is this just who I am at my core,
I’m going to owe amends,
For that I am sure,
From this disease,
There is no cure,
Only the reprieve that the meds provide,
That is, when I am balanced,
There is no allowance for being slightly off centered,
Because then I wreck.

I am better alone,
The dull ache as I am drowning,
What do I want self-pity?
I’m tired, the mania waning,
I’m done complaining,
At least for tonight,

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