It is no coincidence that a rattlesnake makes the same noise as a bottle of pills. I have seen my friends open their prescriptions as if it has just unhinged its jaw and is about to swallow them whole. When did growing up mean chasing drinks rather than chasing dreams because I can spend a whole day in bed and not once think about where I should be going and when I manage to drag myself out it is a question of how much therapy can you pay for sanity and is it worth it for my parents to empty their wallets so that I can spill my guts because at what point does a shell have to stop calling themselves human? I am so fucking tired of people telling me that there is room for improvement because I can scream into the hollowed out bits of myself and only hear echoes - when you tell me there is space to grow, I will show you that I am the grand canyon when you imagined me as a pothole and it would have been a lot easier to fill me with cement and walk all over me again. Somebody once told me that being bipolar was like trying to visit the opposite ends of the world at the exact same time - that the closer you got to where you want to go, the further you get from where you should have been in the first place and it is a matter of just standing still and letting the Earth do the spinning for you. But I have been trying to take steps and I swear to God if I hear that I am not moving fast enough that I can assure you my body is quicksand and it is enough that I have not completely sunk inside of myself. I do not have black eyes from the struggle, I do not have broken bones that let you know I have been fighting for my life, but I have my beating heart and the sunrise that tells me this is a new day and for now that is enough.
— February 19th, 2017 (k.p.k)