IT’S ON BEING ME
Selfishly I entangle myself in “this”.
Do I shut you out? Do I shut me in?
Is that my worst failing?
Is that my worst sin?
You tell me not to be alone,
that you are always here,
but how do I express this confusion?
How do I explain these fears
when I hold my life in my own hands?
When I am “my own master”?
If I really am my own God,
then this God is a bastard
Selfishly I hide these destructive thoughts,
these “end it all” machinations,
these vicious black dog attacks,
these dark room inner confrontations.
This only inflames your concerns and worries,
exacerbates those fears of your own,
and then only to fire my all at you
in a barrage of jumble carelessly thrown.
And you selflessly try to catch each word
to make sense of this fucking inner fight,
of this darkness into which I selfishly drag you,
of this anchor, this boat, this kite
Selfishly I close my heart to your life,
away from your own personal toil
and not compare your lot with mine
but selfishly drag you, selfishly embroil
you into a curse that has no explanation,
no words can I find that will put you at ease
but if my acts should have such negative affection
then I ask you sincerely at your will please
to walk away, and to be satisfied
that the care that you offered
gave me hope to survive.
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As someone who lives with mental health issues (bipolar), I came to realise, over the years, just how much it affects not just the sufferer but the loved ones who try and support them. This poem is a direct message to those people who care.