Me as a mental illness

I first knew I was touched with the darkness when I had gotten my first period. My breasts swelled up and my mind went south. To be angry for no reason, to ache with a plethora of moods, of personalities. Pain manifesting pain. There was The Beth that was shy and reserved only speaking when spoken to. The Beth as the life of the party, friends with everyone. Beth the introvert, one who couldn't tolerate prolonged interaction without developing a twinge of the flu. Beth the procrastinator, always quick to explain her plans and never follow through. There was Beth the lover and she was passionate and intense. There was Beth the fighter, Beth the coward, Beth the anarchist and Beth the survivor. Beth the comedian and Beth the philosopher. Beth the victim quickly became a back seat driver as I learned in this life I could never play the victim because I'd be triumphant in my trauma's. As I tried to mange these personalities I was dulled down on Prozac in 6th grade. The medicine made me feel like Gumby. Rubber banded arms glued to my hips twitching violently with every attempted opposition. I became over weight and distraught and a new level of suicidal ideation brewed in my attention deprived mind. I would rather have five thoughts at once then none at all. I'd try to go back on the pills in the depths of my devastated existence only to suffer from serotonin syndrome which is a horrific display of nerves gone haywire. I quit them for good.
There is no such thing as an invisible illness to me because you can see it in people's eyes. The thousand mile stare as if they had seen a ghost or been through a debilitating battlefield, overseas or within the chamber's of their mind. The emptiness defines their aura, from vibrant reds to dirty snow greys. the foreboding, the loss, the disassociation that they have perfected as a survival instinct is inherent.
It has been two years that I've been off of psyche meds and I feel fine. Sure there are the highs and lows that come along with bipolar and borderline personality disorder but I take it in and I use it as inspiration. And hopefully one day my lifetime of melancholy can help someone realize they are not alone in their craziness and that if we all embraced our lunacy instead of repressing it we would have a world of artists and visionaries instead of sheep and yes men.
And that doesn't mean people shouldn't take their meds because most people with mental illness benefit greatly from SSRI and MOA inhibitor but I just don't fit the mold so I have to white knuckle it and keep in mind that it will pass. And I breathe and carry on.

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This Poems Story

My lifelong battle with mental illness and how I deal