The Mad One.

I have bi-polar. And it ducking sucks.

Though I fought, and bit, and clawed, and talked, against it, I have become my disease.

I have become what people think.

I am the walking cliché.

I am the girl with all of the dreams and double the desperation. The smart one, the funny one, the talented one, the pretty one… All are gone down the drain in order to make room for the mad one. The mad one who cries when the barista forgets her name, who laughs when a friend slaps her, who runs in the rain and sleeps through the summer. The one with nofriends, no money, mo’ problems. Why am I that one?

How did I get here? How did I not become my hopes and dreams? Since when did the demons win? Where was the umpire to banish them from this game of my life..? And why does the devil no longer want to dance with me? He has retired from the dance, he looks at me and smiles. That which I once internalised has become all of my external and I don’t know how to fight anymore. ? Do I have anyone left to fight for.

Dear readers, do you still know how to fight? How to smile, how to fuck, how to love? Dear readers, can you still think of reasons to do these things? Where, o’ where have my reasons gone?

Why, o’ why has my life become madness?

Once I feared rage, and now I long for it, to fight.

Fight, fight, fight for the light.

And for a friend and a world that will love the mad one.