Living With Bipolar Disorder – A Poem

You’re too much.
You’re too extreme.
Why do you have so many emotions?
You cry too often.
You’re far too loud.
Why can’t you seem to find a middle?
You color too bright.
You write too much.
Why can’t you just be like others?

You anticipate so much.
You worry about it all.
Why can’t you just calm down?

If I could just calm down,
Don’t you think I would?
If I could dull the brightness
Of the colors I see in bipolar emotions,
Don’t you think I would?
If I could slow down the thoughts
That whirl and twirl in my head,
Don’t you think I would?
And if I could not feel
So very deeply, to the bottom of my core,
Don’t you think I’d choose that?

You don’t make any sense.
Why do you cry so much?
Last time I saw you, you were so different.
Why do you change so often?
What’s wrong with you?
This isn’t normal.
Why can’t you be like others?

I wonder the same thing,
All the time and every day.
Why was I chosen to live with bipolar disorder,
To exist in the extremes,
Constantly searching for somewhere in the middle.
I question my reality all the damn time.
Am I just making this all up?
Is this all just in my head?
But that’s the real problem, isn’t it?
My head.

You think too much.
You read too much.
You eat too much.
You spend too much.
This isn’t okay. Can’t you just stop?

Oh, but if I could, don’t you think I would?
Living with bipolar disorder is like
Life in the fast lane while constantly pumping the brakes.
It’s not a life I’d wish on anyone.
Speeding down the highway, blowing through stop lights,
And never being able to fully stop,
Is not something I’d want for anyone.

Seeing the color, but it’s so bright and so bold
You almost wish you couldn’t see it at all,
Is not something I’d hope for someone.
Crying so hard for issues you don’t even understand
Is not something I’d want for anyone.
Feeling the feels so deeply that you ache
Is not something I’d wish upon even the most awful person.

Breaking, cracking, slowly dying—
But in the bold, colorful, most intense way.
This bipolar disorder poem is my truth,
Because life with this disease just doesn’t make sense.

“Why can’t you just control it?
Why can’t you just stop?
Have you tried walking?
You know cardio is a cure for it all?”

If it were that simple,
And if I could just stop,
I’d have chosen that.
I’d have chosen a life of balance,
Rather than fighting for the middle each and every day.

I’d have chosen to see the colors
In regular hues,
Rather than needing sunglasses everywhere I look.
I’d have chosen not to carry this weight
For the rest of my life.
Constantly chained
To the intensity of my emotions,
Making all my life choices
By whatever mood cycle I am in.

I look away from the mirror.
I can’t stand my own reflection.
The questions I can’t answer
And the feelings I can’t heal.

This isn’t a show.
I’m not making it up.
This is mental health poetry,
The reality of living with bipolar disorder.
Life with this illness is a constant battle.
Living in the extremes,
And endlessly searching for the middle.