Staring Death In The Face
Every day I wake up, I am closer to death, as are you. The difference is I have a mind that yearns for it. It wants to stop the chatter. It wants everything to be still. It longs for me to not be awkard, or the lady who stutters now and then, who can’t remember words, and have hands not strong enough to write.
All of that is shit and it is hard and I grow weary of it and I know that there are a lot of you who feel as I do – meanwhile taking our prescribed medication.
I have wanted out of this life so bad I attempted a few times to leave (don’t) and remain here for some reason, a reason that one day will be clear. And for you, too. There is a reason for you too. I are here – to hold a child’s hand, or dance with grandma one last time. Whatever it is, however insignificant it may seem, we can’t go ’til it is time.
And once again, that is shit, shitty, shit, shit! Because we should have the right to do whatever we want, right? But this one, this – well, baby, this will be the final thing you will ever do. And what if it really does get better and in a few months I wake up out of this irritable, sad stupor? That might be kinda cool. So, maybe every morning I will say to myself, ‘ANOTHER DAY! MARK IT ON THE CALENDAR!’ and celebrate this tiny little life of mine, because with it, I can do great things.
Martin, E. (2017). Staring Death In The Face. Psych Central. Retrieved on November 25, 2017, from https://blogs.psychcentral.com/being-bipolar/2017/08/19/staring-death-in-the-face/