Moments In Time: Bipolar Breakdown

 

 

I’m being choked by the words that I know eventually must come out

...

Breathless

...

I drown in my darkest despairs

I can’t think.

I can’t talk.

 

But I can hit.

I can punch.

And I can slap pretty hard too.

 

I’ll let my hands do the talking

I give them the pleasure of doing what his wish they could.

Rounding up, repetitive whacks to the face

I feel nothing

…

So I continue with the blows until I do.

The ringing of rage pierces my ears

Hate lingers in their canals, whispering sweet songs of sorrow

 

My hands gently glide through my gnarled strands of hair

Each finger trembling,

caressing my bumped and bruised scalp

“How can someone make me hate me so much?”