The mess in my head

I don't wish bipolar on anyone.

It's a horrible fucking illness. To periodically lose control of your own mind, thoughts and emotions with little to no outside influence is terrifying.

You start with having an illness that makes you feel completely alone and in despair. It's not something people can see or something that everyone has so they therefore don't understand it. When people can't see something or they haven't experienced it, in their mind, it doesn't really exist as something real and tangible.

If something isn't real to someone they don't support it. They question it's existence and doubt what you're feeling. In someone with bipolar, this outlook only goes to justify the feelings of being alone and despair that were purely made up by your body to begin with.

While spiralling out of control internally you have to try and keep it together so you don't get labelled crazy on top of everything else. So not only are you lonely and despairing, you are also feeling like you have to hide. And of course, hiding doesn't help, it makes it worse.

So you reach out to people, which is unbelievably difficult to begin with, but even harder when you get met with blank faces and strange looks. You realise this is a battle that only you can fight but you feel completely powerless to do so.

You find some strength and push on to do all the things to make yourself feel better but even eating healthy, exercising and taking medication sometimes fail to work and the despair inside you grows to new heights.

As much as you try not to take it out on anyone else and 'hide the crazy' it still seeps out and work and personal relationships take a hit. This only serves to make you more depressed and feel more alone.

Depression is just one side of it though, sometimes you can be on a high which leads to making erratic choices and bad financial decisions and again, people think you're crazy.

So then you're back to square one. Despair and depressed.

Sometimes these emotions cause a physical reaction and you get violently ill and can't stop shaking and that doesn't help you help yourself because who has that kind of motivation when they are unwell.

People with bipolar tend to have a lot of empathy and compassion for others as they understand that everyone is fighting their own battle, no matter what that looks like. However a lot of people without it tend not to have as much and can be dismissive which is incredibly hurtful. Because even though you don't have it, it's real, and it does exist.

Wouldn't it be great if it was just accepted like any other illness and on top of managing it all, you didn't have to hide, pretend or justify yourself.

Through all of this you may be lucky enough to have a few people (at best) that while they can never understand fully, choose to support you anyway. They don't care that it doesn't make sense or that you are acting irrationally, they still turn up, every day and keep you going.

I wish nothing more than to be able to control my head, to be able to live without these patches where I am no longer myself.

But for now, that's not possible so I just have to learn how to live with it.

The mess in my head.

I am consumed with illness No one can see it but it’s there, it just swirls around picking up speed until I am driven insane.
What Is it, why is it there and why wont it FUCK OFF It’s never ending, ever growing and all consuming and it lives inside my head. I can’t carry it anymore, I just want to rip it off, get it away, shake it off.

How do you explain something that people can’t see? I have more understanding of religion now. If someone feels the presence of god the way I know the presence of this demon is real, who am I to argue that it’s not. Seeing is not believing. Seeing is the weakest of the senses.

I clean, I organise and I sort to try and find a way for the pure energy to enter my body But it never does, its illusive energy continues to evade me. No matter what I do it just won't find a way in. There is something inside me that blocks it, pushes away the better and feeds on the worse. My veins remain green and brown, pumping the sickness around until it takes over completely.

Everything that goes through my mind is drenched in disease. I just want clean water I want fun I want innocence I want joy I want a life back

I am looking out through my eyes but my vision is murky I can’t see anything properly The real me is shrinking smaller and smaller Further away from my field of vision I barely remain inside me anymore

Instead I cy And then I don't because what's the point I have nothing left Everything is just an act to make others feel better So they don't worry, to decrease their suffering Because why make others part of this pain

My soul departed months ago. My human body remains, the cells make up my shell. The shell is all that’s left and it's not strong enough to take the knocks. It's covered in dents and being held together by masking tape. I am breathing but I'm not taking a breath, I am not breathing in.

But then I feel something. A small body crawling into bed It twists and moves until it moulds itself perfectly into my shell It breathes a sigh of relief It has found its space.

Even though my broken shell is all that remains, I am still this little persons home They still find comfort in my shell They don't care that it's broken, battered and bruised. They need it to survive.

Then the flashes come through. They pass through my mind quickly, in small bursts of colour. The smile when they see you, The podgy warm hands around your neck, The I love you’s The innocence And then I know.

I am not giving in.