I hate when people say my bipolar disorder is a part of me.

It isn't.

I know what "me" feels like and these thoughts and feelings and sensations are none of mine.

It's an invasion.

A violation.

A possession.

Ants that skitter along my nerves.

Electricity constantly running through my brain.

Cancer that spreads through my insides and rots everything that's me.

Leaves me wanting to rip my skin off and strip my muscles from my bones.

Dig out my organs and throw them away.

Cleanse it all until there's only me again.

Spiraling again

And I need a break

But I hate that feeling that I get when I’m absent from stuff

That left out feeling

Even though it was me that walked away

I just want people to come find me

Come find me 

I want to be high

To find that place inside me where all that real stuff is

That stuff that’s so difficult to find when I’m not outside myself

I always feel so detached from myself

And I hate it

How do people feel connected

How does the world seem real

I just want to get high 

And be high

And write and purge this feeling

This shit feeling

In a way that touches me

And touches you

And it’s so frustrating

I don’t want to be that kind of person

But I don’t want to care and I want to write so badly

So badly

I just want to scream it all onto paper and throw it out into the void and enjoy the satisfaction it brings

And I’m so tempted

So tempted

Drowning

Drowning.

And I don’t know what to do.

And I don’t know what to say.

Trying not to think too hard.

Trying not to focus on what’s going on inside.

What’s tearing me apart?

Fear. Agony. Loneliness. Despair.

I just want to hide in the corner between the bed and the wall.

Shut my eyes tight.

Cover my face.

Close my ears.

Scream and scream and scream in silence.

Cry until I choke and drown.

Courage

I wonder if maybe I'm lying to myself.

Did I really only want to get fucked up?

Or did I want to die?

I knew the pills wouldn't be enough.

I knew that.

But the pills might have been enough.

And I was aware.

The knives are only ten feet away.

I could drown myself in the bathtub.

Look up how to make a noose online.

All sorts of easy ways to die and none were that far away.

All I needed was a little courage.

To care a little less.

To be a bit more reckless.

Was I lying to myself?

Am I lying to myself?

Do I want to die?

Going to lay here now.

Hurting.

And not say anything.

All out of "courage" now.

Useless.

Useless.

Useless.

Special to no one.

Nothing.

Empty.

Swallowing some more.

Hope I'll  disappear soon.

Song

Took some pain killers.

Planning on taking more.

‘cause what’s the point?

I try to not do these things ‘cause I don’t want to be like my dad.

But who cares?

I don’t.

I want to get fucked up.

If I had more money, I’d be drinking and smoking right now too.

‘cause who fucking cares.

No one.

No one.

No one.

No one.

No one.

No one.

Lalala.

It’s a song.

A song of madness.

Always playing at the back of my mind.

No one cares.

No one cares.

No one cares.

I am forgettable.

I am worthless.

I am useless.

I am wrong.

Erase my existence.

Undo me.

Hate me.

Hate me.

Hate me.

Lalala.

Lalala.

Lalala.

Let’s swallow some more.

Who cares anymore.

Haha it rhymes.

Lalala.

Lalala.

Two down.

Twelve more to go.

Was saving them.

For a fun time.

I’ll make this a fun time.

Aren’t we having fun?

No one cares.

No one cares.

Lalala.

Lalala.

I want to cut myself.

Stab myself.

Burn myself.

Drown myself.

Suffocate myself.

Hurt myself.

Again and again.

Over and over.

Might as well.

Will you hurt me?

Cut me.

Stab me.

Burn me.

Drown me.

Suffocate me.

Hurt me.

Again and again.

Over and over.

‘cause what does it matter?

No one cares.

No one cares.

Probably would think I deserved it.

Probably would think it’s my fault.

I do deserve it.

It is my fault.

Worthless me.

Useless me.

Why am I here?

Every day.

Why?

Is there a point?

A reason?

I don’t see one.

I’ve never seen one.

It was a mistake.

I was a mistake.

Erase me.

It’s not like it would matter.

If I’m here.

If I’m not.

No one cares.

No one cares.

Lalala.

Lalala.

My mother would be relieved.

My father said so.

I believe him.

Spoken truth.

He’d be relieved.

They’d all be relieved.

No more burden.

Useless.

Worthless.

Lalala.

Again and again.

Over and over.

Always playing at the back of my mind.

Sometimes louder.

Sometimes softer.

But always, always there.