Loss - feeling lost to the Machiavellian machinations of my own head.
The ice cold abyss of depression which freezes to the core until I feel... nothing -~
Minutes lost in the hours, hours in the days, desperate to feel... something.
The crazed ecstasy of mania which burns so bright until I feel... too too much -~
Deluded choices with ramifications I’ll only know later when they arrive as such.
The ricochet of voices with no corporeal form that haunt me hour upon hour -~
Making the day and the night desperately lonely and so vitriolically sour.
When I forget to remember; that social engagement, the appointment, how to make tea -~
My executive functioning so buggered it angers others despite my clemency plea.
Loss are the weeks in hospital, the zombie months of high medication not right for me -~
Loss are the times I fall victim to the full throes of my illness, yearning to be free.
But through loss I have fought, myself I have taught -~
A deeper understanding, and with it compassion -~
In order to be free, or at least in a fashion.
To aid myself in, not in taming the beast -~
But keeping it on some kind of leash, at least.
In loss I have also gained, I can see more of you I can see more of me.
So that whilst we are cursed we can see that we’re blessed too, you see.
I am not ‘bipolar’. I am not ‘disordered’, just reordered, nor am I ‘schizo’.
Yes I have bipolar schizoaffective disorder, but is that all of me? No.
For the losses I’ve known or will endure ~~
I will find triumphs, of that I am sure.