i rest my head

in my hands

as i sit


the toilet

for the sixth

consecutive night —

keep breathing;

keep it all




to myself —

my stomach





hard, strapping

myself in for another

set of seconds

that cant


soon enough —

i cant do


again —

i have to

do this again —

i lose focus and am

caught by surprise —

this concoction —

the cocktail



for me —


and unphased by

pleads for my guts to

return to normalcy —

im cornered —

convulsing —

i press my forehead

into my palms; i’m dizzy

and tired of fighting the surges

ripping through my body —

you have to keep it

down; you need

this in your

system —

i sit,

betrayed and alone,

surmising life would be

much more liveable if my

stomach or my brain

listened to me.


i lost a week of my life to mania.

i hallucinated through a week of my life, unaware of my surroundings and unable to care for myself.

i have pockets of 30 second memories across an entire week —

i dont remember days of my life.

i asked my family to stop telling me what i did and said bc hearing accounts of my behavior is too painful —

i wasnt myself. or i was too much myself — i dont know.


now i have to fight my way through new medications and its a nightly struggle —

in a lot of ways it feels like its killing me.


i lost a week of my life to mania.


fuck mania.

fuck bipolar disorder.

fuck lithium.


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