Something's Wrong

From, Being Bipolar: Poems And Reflections On A Life Diagnosed.

I’m eleven and sitting on the cusp of

entering Junior High.

Years before I am diagnosed, the

seed of a Mad Hatter begins to grow.

Time speeds up.

Time slows down.

I can’t sleep.

My thoughts are not my own.

I laugh hysterically.

I cry uncontrollably.

I feel like I am being torn apart.

Help! Someone put me back together!

What”s consuming me?

Why do I feel this way?

Mood swings are faster than the roller coaster of puberty.

Feelings shake in seismic shifts.

The middle path is gone.

Tiny cracks the eye can not see are

forming and years later after they

grow and grow; I loose my footing

and fall down deep into the crevasses

of my turbulent psyche.

I don’t want to feel this way.

I suffer in silence.

I tell no one.

My new burden is heavy.

I begin to self medicate with alcohol.