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)