I feel jittery
on water.
Lack of purpose stresses my mental sanity.
Trapped. Hurt. Sober.
I have no more coping mechanisms.
There's something wrong with me,
even though nothing was wrong last year.
Seeking support groups,
seeking diagnosis,
seeking pills,
seeking understanding,
seeking love, elusive though it is.
So much energy.
Cannot sleep.
I hate being home within four walls.
I used to have structure,
comfort.
I was a well-oiled machine,
but I haven't been oiled for weeks.
I'm seeing my life flash before my eyes,
my age is in analog.
The man who tried so hard to know me has cut
me from his life.
The man who tried so hard to love me has blocked
my thoughts from his eyes.
What's wrong with my brain?
I'm tired of strangling
my reward center.
I just want to cut
a breathing artery out of my life.
I'm sick of being unheard.
I'm tired of being who you want.
I'm exhausted from being what's wrong.

07/16/2019

Author's Note: A poem about post-wedding blues, midlife crisis, and bipolar 2

Posted on 07/16/2019
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