Still Riding That Bipolar Train
Destination: Anywhere but Here
Emptiness fills itself with my soul.
But I’m okay. I’m always okay, even when I’m not.
That’s my mantra.
I go to sleep at night afraid of the monsters in my closet, under my bed, and in my dreams.
The monsters crafted from painful memory, regret, and trauma.
And the imagined monsters that prey on loneliness.
Those of paranormal origin.
I tell myself I have to wake up in the morning, knowing there’s nothing that I want to wake up for. Nothing to look forward to.
I’ll have my coffee, read a few chapters of a fictional world that’s more appealing than mine, push out a few freelance articles for my clients, go to the fitness center, make myself eat, take my meds, do my work for the bank, and then go to bed hollow to do it all again.
I heard somebody on TikTok today cry and say, “I’m not okay. I wake up to go to bed.”
*thumps chest* — I feel that in my soul.
I’m okay, though.
I have no desire to harm myself.
In fact, I have no desires at all.
