But then I fell from the sky,
I landed on the ground,
And I tried not to cry
When they saw me they would scream,
They said I was an alien,
And a girl caught in her dreams
A few Fridays later,
There were no stars in my hair,
There were no nebulas in my eyes,
But I couldn't really care
But one fateful day,
Someone saw through my lies,
They saw me through a telescope,
Suddenly galaxies were in my eyes
From that day forward,
I never gave in,
I would reach for the stars,
And be the best galaxy I've ever been
nothing happened. you got away; horrified and shaking, but you did. it was after.
when everything happened.
used to be, you’d cry when you scraped your knees, and you'd let people finish their sentences before thoughtfully adding your own – but that was before, before those boys knocked something loose in you, because now it's a cycle of not stopping. you can't stop talking or thinking, thinking all these big, bold thoughts that can take you away, that can surround you like a deep, dark tunnel, you can't stop eating because girls are supposed to smile and sometimes eating fills that emptiness inside of you, just for a minute, but then you can't stop starving because there's no time to eat, because you can't stop,
So you don't go looking for lethal thrills.
Haven't you ever wanted to go to the brink
Of destruction, just to see if you'd sink
Into the clutches of death or if you'd survive
Just because God still wants you alive?
You live on time stolen not borrowed
From some intangible thing called tomorrow.
Forget that white, round pill stamped 1-4-2
And you'll realize how much you can do
If only they would let you try
To jump off, spread your wings, and fly.
But even with the meds in your system,
You still aren't without symptoms.
Your working memory abilities
Are poor enough to come to futility.
Imagine the frustration when you find
You can't recall what was in your mind
Just moments before. You find yourself lacking
And your brain seems to be slacking,
Even when you're given some cues
Not everything comes to mind for you.
And not only memory, but functioning speed
Is a hindrance and daily you find you need
More time than others do to process events
I'm dating this because I want to be able to look back on it in the future to see if anything has changed for better or for worse. I know there are a lot of you who don't know what's going on with me, or don't quite understand it, but that's why I'm writing this. Sometimes you'll ask yourself, "why did Reitanna say this?" or "why does Reitanna feel so down?" "What happened to Reitanna?" Well, I'm about to tell you in length what is going on. People who read this who have the same thing will understand completely. People with nothing like it will be confused and sort of scared. It's a natural feeling. But after everything, I'm not ashamed to admit that I have Manic Depressive Disorder.
Manic Depression and Bipolar Disorder are the same thing. However, I like to refer to it as Manic Depressive Disorder because a lot of times, people (including me) will use the word "bipolar" as a joke, like when I say, "the weather in Southern California is almost as bipolar as I am." Wh
my mother told me,
if she had known,
she would have never had children.
it scares me to think that,
one day i could hear a small voice saying,
“mommy, i don’t feel right.”
“you don’t look sick,”
they say, noticing that i’m not dragging around
an i.v. stand.
noticing that my sweatshirt is black
and not a white hospital gown
swinging around marbled, knocking knees.
“but i’m still unwell,” i say
in a voice that doesn’t shake
and they just look disappointed,
like i don’t fit.
like i’m the skewed painting
on the fucked-up-person wall.
“but,” they say, “don’t bipolar people
usually kill themselves?”
“but i tried,” i say
with my wrists unmarked
and they just shake their heads
almost as if to say
not hard enough.
“poor girl,” they say, looking right at me,
sitting next to my dad as he laughs too loud.
“She’s probably just making it up.”
“You have nothing to be sad about.”
“Isn’t this just a way for her to get attention?”
Careless whispers from classmates and family, all unsure of my new emotional discovery.
Trying to tip-toe around their blames.
Impolite, egotistical, broken.
“Why not get some fresh air?”
“Didn’t you used to love days like this?”
“What do you mean you don’t want to get out of bed?”
“You have to just get out there!”
A misguided adult would say, trying desperately to understand my situation.
Without ever fully looking me in the eyes.
Un-grateful, lazy, sensitive.
“You’re just not that fun to be around.”
“Call me when you get better.”
“I don’t want to always be dealing with your problems.”
Friends would stop messaging me, and eve
there’s a monster inside of my head.
it moved in four years ago, but they say it’s always been there. my daddy has one. so does his mom.
they say that’s where i got it. dad says grammy’s monster made her beat him until he was seven. dad says his monster made him drink until he blacked out, for twenty years.
they all say, “don’t let it in.” they all say, “it’ll control you, because you are weak.”
(actually, they say “vulnerable.”)
they tell me its name, so i can paint it on my wrists, on my forehead, along the curves of my ears. keep out. no BIPOLAR DISORDER allowed. they say it notices loud things. capital letters, for one. or crying children. or hatred. or fear.
they do not tell me what it’s like to see it. they do not tell me what’s it like, to feel it burrowing under your skin.
when it came to me, i pleaded with it. i said, “please go away,” and it didn’t listen.