(In the very beginning, someone mentioned to me that the highs may have sounded a little fun. And, while, honestly I have grown to the point that they can be a little fun(knowing the alternative), they can also be very daunting. I wrote this poem after that because the highs seemed to be just another part of a me I didn't understand...)
Not just fearful of happiness, fearful of sad
Totally consumed with apprehension of mad
Not just mad, happy, sad as you will see
I've become phobic of a me to just be
Apprehensive of death, perplexed by life
Stuck in between with these feelings of strife
The battle inside causes me to cry
Is it better to live or better to die
Eternal damnation as sanction for self harm
Pushes life above death in a state of alarm
During times when that's all between living and dying
The melancholy controls for hours of crying
But the times that the happy has me high as a kite
Urge to drink and party are fought off with all might
Guilt disappears, fear goes away
Until normal returns causing dismay
Hate of myself, of who I've become
Try to cleanse the brain, but thoughts can't be undone
So, fun this is not, even the bliss
Control of my thoughts I truly do miss
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