One day, I will go home.
The abuse left a stain on her tender heart, and her mind twisted from the games of an evil man. Worse, she felt dirty and unnecessary, like a garage rag that came in handy but was left lying around like trash.
...Unfortunately, every night became a haunted nightmare, and to survive, I closed my eyes and flew away. With my baby sister in the bunk bed below me, I endured the torture, hopeful he would leave her alone. I would shed a tear in the darkness and whisper in my mind, "don't move… don't move..don't wake up…don't see.."
Depression is relentless. We struggle to overcome, and it fights to defeat us. The pursuit of our mind is that of a hunter and it's prey.
I am filled day and night with a fear I cannot shake. People die every day from one last high. We saw that in December. Living in this fear is trying.
A poem of strength and honor.
When I am bound by bipolar, I fear movement. I cast this unimaginable shadow over myself that darkens with each passing day. I proved this earlier this month when I looked out my office window and noticed the sun.
Why do I write and speak on the topic of mental health, namely bipolar disorder?
In January 2002, I accepted I have a chronic mental illness, and a journey began. I experienced a myriad of emotions at the time, such as anger, disappointment, fear, and a mild case of feeling sorry for myself!
I am sitting peaceful in the calm seas for now, but I remain wrestling in this- I feel nothing. It is a different emptiness. This is not hopelessness, it is hopeful healing, sitting stagnant.