Site powered by Weebly. Managed by iPage
Friday night breakdown to the worst extent
I was sitting there with a drink and a bullet
But only using the rum.
The thoughts were bad and they still are
I keep going over the fact that this will happen again.
That night I left the house in an ambulance. The cops here, too.
I was alone.
Too much for me to handle alone. Yet I do. Every time.
The chaos confined at the hospital and in my brain it follows.
I was too much to handle, he said. And left.
I returned home with a promise that crisis would call. Not a promise that I wouldn't kill myself. I never said it.
Work 13 hours the next day. These bags look like bruises under my eyes.
This is bad. I could pull the steering wheel.
Day 3 and I'm treated like a virus.
They stand far away to talk about the problem: me.
I know this is bad.
My thoughts are broken in half.
One piece, the potential professional, says everything needed to be said.
One piece, knows this will repeat. This is life long. No matter what you do while living, you'll end up here, again.
I cried to my mom yesterday about this.
About being tired of being bipolar.
About being tired of being unstable.
I'm tired of being me.
"Well, you have 2 choices."