If our pain is unavoidable,

Let it be a pain of our choosing.

So I guess at 13 pulling a blade against my sick was a choice?

I chose my mental illness like its a option at lunch

Bipolar, anxiety or OCD.

Normality fleeted my deck of cards that very day,

Lined up just jesters and fours

Winners cards crumbled into ash.

From blood smeared on the walls

To vomit filled toilets.

It began so easy and trivial

To vodka downed straight

Dancing in the darkness

I guess I chose pain or did it choose me?

I guess I was unfortunate,

That my parents did not raise me right.

Or the bullies viper tongues,

Venom was deadly in my mind.

When I choose to date women,

And give my virginity away for free.

Did I choose suffering or was that all was offered to me?

When I was given black eyes as love

When I was locked in a secure ward

It was not just for fun.

Did I choose the pain or did it choose me?

I guess if it continues rifling through my successes

That I left an open door for it to walk in.

I guess it saw the weakness in me.

Maybe I will never be free.



Medication gives me more awareness to the highs and lows. It stops the hypomania creeping into mania, saddles the depression and takes it for a ride right out of bed into the everyday grind. Maybe it makes me a normal neurotic person and not the bipolar neurotic. I get through the day.

I recently added a old friend quetiapine back into the mix. Quetiapine is like a old lady on your back, she makes you hungry and makes you foggy like you would looking down from the highest peak. She seems to make me brain dead, out of it completely and I don’t hate it. She desensitises so much that I’m not even bothered by death, that a lot of the time I am just trying to get through the day back into my bed where I can relax and be myself.