Sitting at the back of the parking lot I watch headlights pass No one knows I’m dying
I had a revelation So clear I stopped breathing My life will be cut short It’s only a matter of time
It’s not cancer, you see But cancer of the soul I’m broken
What is happiness? I don’t know her
I’ve been fighting half my life, And I’m tired So, so tired
How long can I hold on, Before the sweet embrace of death is just a bit too tempting?
Tears leak out of me Salt and water Like the ocean
The ocean, so beautiful, But filled with darkness herself I dare say I know her
We are connected by the water Mine, a drop Hers, a chasm But connected none the less
Sometimes, when our shared life force is streaming down my cheeks, she whispers She tells me that one day, some day, The purpose of this life will be revealed
And by some magic yet unknown to man She imbues the salt water that we share With hope And it is enough for one more day
What is a star really, But fire?
And what is fire really, But light?
How inspiring it is to be able to say That we must search for light on our darkest days
“When it rains look for rainbows When it’s dark look for stars”
Injecting hope into our deepest suffering With such an aesthetic phrase Plastered on our timelines in a pleasing font
We must keep faith that the darkness will end But does God hear our prayers For the babies buried in rubble When we put their brothers and sisters in cages?
In our dress clothes on Sunday Jesus tells us exactly what to do But the place where we pray then locks its doors And the undesirables will never be allowed to enter
We tithe with dirty money Trickled down from Herod’s incarnations Half-heartedly muttering thoughts and prayers, amen For the children in a city that we are relieved is not our own But could be
We cling to hope of better days ahead And search for the light in the darkness But we forget that light is just fire And fire also burns in hell
When that pinprick of light bursts open And the savior is at our doorstep The darkness around us will be illuminated And we will see what we have done in our despair
Hell must be a very honest place
I saw him today That boy I once knew, turned man He never liked coffee back then But I hear him order Some Instagram drink from the corner Where I sit and watch
He hasn’t seen me yet And I hope he doesn’t
That part of me is long gone And I’d like to keep it that way Locked away in a box
That he holds a key to
It bubbles deep in the pits of me And I’m scared That one look, one word From the boy turned man I once loved Will turn back the clock And I will become her again
That broken girl of years past That I’ve imagined holding, consoling, loving While staring out the high rise windows Of my therapist’s office
She still exists in a more primal place It wasn’t his fault she was crazy Confirmed years later under the fluorescent lights of the psychiatric facility But she was crazy about him, oh my…
Suddenly he turns and we lock eyes And I’m back in high school Giving him every part of me In hidden corners, rushed moments In the frenzied way only young lovers can We are screaming and fighting and crying and the world is spinning so fast we might just float away It is exquisite It’s a flame
What that sweet girl child does not yet know is that flames turn to fire and for people like her…
Fires are a little too beautiful
She will learn Will I?
I want it and I hate it and no, I will not cry out in the corner of a coffee shop With longing for the freedom I once knew I will not ruin this life I have curated for myself Meticulously through years of professionals and pills For the boy turned man that knows the darkest parts of my soul
So I take a breath and offer a polite smile
He comes over to say hello
Many would say she’s a storm in a teacup
Violently thrashing through a mundane life of supposed contentment
Most days, it’s wake up, swing by Starbucks before heading to her 9-5
Maybe a couple of happy hour drinks with coworkers, go home to her cat, rinse and repeat
But sometimes….
She wakes up on a Tuesday and the world is brighter, like everything has been soaked in neon. The birds are singing so beautifully that her chest feels like it might actually, literally, not even a bit metaphorically burst with excitement
She skips the Starbucks and rushes to work, only arriving 3 hours early
A couple of happy hour drinks turns to a few, and instead of going home to her cat, she goes home with Greg from accounting who wears a ring on his finger
It’s midnight and she can’t sleep, so she pulls out her credit card and spends five grand on an impromptu cruise to the Caribbean for this weekend
That she absolutely can’t afford
Wednesday morning and the pressure in her chest has not eased. At work she rushes to Greg’s office and get on her knees under his desk, letting him grip her hair because making men feel like this makes her feel like God
She is invincible, untouchable, driving too fast with the top down, wind in her hair, volume as up as it will go, screaming the words until her throat feels like it will bleed
She cannot be satiated
That weekend, in international waters, she stares out at the sea all alone, and contemplates jumping off the boat
Many think, “What could be as bad as all that? She’s just a storm in a teacup”
There are days that are incomprehensibly worse than these though. When the sky is no longer bright, and the birds no longer sing
She wakes up on a Tuesday and the whole world is gray
Her whole body is heavy like she put on a hundred pounds in her sleep
Everything aches….oh, it aches.
The barista smiles at her and the gray turns a slight shade of pink and it burns her skin like a sunburn. She squints and hurries back to her car
At work she hides from Greg, because she can’t fathom trying to have a conversation with someone right now, she’s so….exhausted
Four hours go by and she’s still staring at her screen saver, trying to remember how to breathe under the crushing weight of nothingness
She isn’t sad. She’s just….numb
She skips happy hour and goes home to her cat, and later that night she lays on the bathroom floor, cigarette in her hand, staring at a bottle of pills, and contemplates
Many will say, “What could be as bad as all that? She’s just a storm in a teacup”
After all, she wakes up on Tuesday, grabs a Starbucks, heads to work and smiles at Greg. Happy hour drinks, rinse and repeat
But on that boat, and with her face pressed against the cold tile of her bathroom floor, and in the prison of her own mind
She is a teacup in a storm.
(Written by a girl with bipolar disorder)
