My Greatest Fear

What does it mean to be bipolar?

 You look so normal.

 I never would have known.

 To be bipolar is to be in constant battle
Torn between two foes
Who rage a war and
Never lift a finger.
No one wins.
No one gains the upper hand.

 The enemy is not Someone or Something.
It is invisible.
It touches everything you see,
Taints all your memories,
Actions,
Interactions.

 Everything you think you know is
Called into question, thus
You question everything.

 To endlessly question.
Incapable of making a satisfactory decision.
 You are not so much caught in the middle as
Broken
 With bits and pieces of yourself on either side
Of the trenches.

 A tactical error merely means
 One or the other faction is more
Convincing At any given time.
Your mind will change and
Change again, and
You are powerless to stop it.

 The war is never over.
It only changes forms.
Weapons evolve, and
When you reach out to grasp hold
Of something solid and permanent
It either dissolves between your fingers or
Explodes and tears them off.

 At times you keep going and
Others, you sit still.

Either way, you are not moving.

You are utterly alone with all your questions.
 To look back at the years of your life,
It all seems a dream
Someone else's life.

 Bipolar is a break inside you
A crevasse you cannot fill
With earth, air, water, or fire.
Nobody else can see it.
 It's as if it did not exist.
Only the tragedy you leave behind;
The devastation of your life.

 It's an inconstant feeling of remorse,
Embarrassment,
Apologies,
Making every, "I'll never do that again" a lie.

Only you never believe it
Even when you want to.
 No one sees it till it blindsides them, so
They wash their hands and leave.

Only you can't leave
Because bipolar is you, and
You are bipolar.

You are broken
Whether or not you want to be.
Others have a choice whether or not
To allow your disease to break them.
 You do not have that luxury.

Then someone comes along and loves you, and
Someone else with a degree knows you better
Than you know yourself.
Together you make a tactical decision
To stop fighting and
Build a truce
To wave the white flag and
Take the white pills.
A few blue ones, too.
Pills that bridge the gap, and
You can finally stand up and
 Feel a little less embarrassed.
A little less apologetic.

My greatest fear is that the little
Nuggets of modern medicine
Will one day be denied to me,
My bridge will collapse, and
I will find that, in all that time,
The rift grew deeper, and
It will swallow me
Along with everyone I love.

Separate Sleep, or Insomnia

I wrap my right hand around my left thumb
Curled under the pillow.
My right foot seeks the cooler spot
On the opposite side of the bed.

I count from 1 to 100, then back again.
Then again.
And again.
As many times as it takes.

My earplugs squish and mute the noise
Beyond the midnight shelter of my bed.

My child sleeps sprawled
Next to my curled up cat.
One is only 3
The other, 13.
Neither is aware of the efforts I am making
To join them.

Sleep is the refuge of a war-torn mind and
The birthright a calm mind naturally claims.

I struggle to end the skirmish of thoughts that
Skitter around the landscape
Of my psyche.

Even in sleep, I am unconsciously conscious.
My brain continues to process
Information in slow snippets.
Images burst and fade,
Feelings contend with facts
Bombards me with potential solutions, and
Races to the start
Of a new day.

This prostrate activity is called dreaming.

My father once studied the scientific 
Nature of the sleeping, dreaming brain.
I have the sleepy, dreamy blanket as proof.
It attempts a subliminal message
With the repetition of a single word:
"Sleep,"
But I can't read with my eyes shut.
 
I remember every night of sleep
Tainted by the percussive rhythms of this 
Sequence of imaginative thoughts. 
I do not recall a time before 
My dreams.

This child, this feline -
Do they dream?
My cat snores.
My daughter kicks and starts.
Their muffled speech
Slips into
My ever-conscious mind.

Their murmuring eyes do not imitate peace;
They beckon, compel me to join
In this communal slumber.
Bodies colliding with that gentle,
Rhythmic breathing
That barely flutters the covers.

On this side of the bed, I count
Hope to miss a beat
Eager to press my head into 
This tete-a-tete
Of joyous silence.

I try not to study my surroundings
In the sunlight of my mind, but
My eyes strain in darkness, 

I know the battle is won when
I falter in my count;
My slack-jawed, jerk-and-start body
Finally folds into silence;
Slips separately upon A long and understated breath.

The images burst and fade behind closed doors -

I dream and thus
I sleep.