LOSS

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.