Mentally Ill   Leave a comment


I was walking down the footpath like I owned the daylight.  My new shoes pressing firm into the subtle texture of the freshly turned soil that was barely dry in the blushing light of dawn; morning dew clinging to each and every item left out from the night before as if a badge of precious victory.  I was beaming, literally beaming, my face flashing a brilliance which hadn’t shown from any part of me in what felt like many millennia. I was finally confident in my stride.  I had found some purpose and I was dedicated to my footsteps for the very first time.  My stumbling was behind me, teetering and fumbling no longer my only function.  I was coming into my own and I was sure that there was never going to be any going back.  This was my rite of passage leading me straight for the grand entrance into the waking world…………………………..

Only I was dreaming.  And I can’t seem to ever push it aside.  I wish I didn’t open up, I wish I had just kept certain things to myself because to be honest I will miss her.  I know being honest is the best thing, I know that.  I’m not a fool.  But when everyone leaves, you don’t think about the overall right and wrong of a situation.  You just think about how everyone always has a reason to push you away.  What I’m talking about is my therapist.  She can’t help me.  She thinks I need more than she can provide and she’s right.  Only I want her to help me.  And that’s a big part of me actually benefiting from all of this shit.  So now I’m going to have to leave her and go back into an outpatient program or into some hospital.  I’m really not ok with any of it, but I don’t get much say.  So I talk to the actual doctor tomorrow to figure out my fate.  For the first time in a long time, I feel more than just “bipolar”.  I feel the full weight of “mentally ill”.  And I’m just not feeling like finding a way though it this time.

I haven’t slept in 3 nights now, so I’m loopy as well.  I was having nightmares.  Now, I’m growing more and more manic.

I’m growing tired of being me again.  Only this time, I’m too tired to want to be anyone else either.

Jen Czahur


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