a treatise on why bipolar artists overdose

there is this thing that if you don’t have it you truly don’t understand what it is

you may have experienced the edges of it, but it was a pit stop on the road, not a destination

it’s called mania, it is pure speed and light and joy and wonder and your kind in perfect synch

it is perfection

it comes with a price

for every day of racing along in the world like you probably feel you should always feel


you’ve experienced this as well, even if you haven’t been forced to follow demands of the mistress

it feels like your organs are coated with tar, but it sort of stings as it colors the grays

this lass is anxiety, she is the harbinger of the lady depression and is a bit of masochist

she likes pain

with her cool touch everything is off, something is wrong, you said did imagined it no matter what

then comes the full on depression like slipping into fireant pajamas for a cozy three week nap

so you are soaring


then you cannot tell in the sudden fog if there is a tree around the bend and you know there is

ultimate high denied

and depression isn’t i am sad and want to cry, no no no it is i cannot get up and i hate myself for it

i need to do things

i do

i won’t because i cannot and i cannot say why i cannot because i can’t bring myself to


shower? meh

food? meh

leave the house?

fuck right off

so why do we tend to overdose?

we chase that high to avoid that low and it becomes and endless cycle of masking the symptoms

then you are rock bottom to the tenth degree and you cannot find the memory of the high

what always helps?


what never helps?


but it sure feels like it

until it doesn’t

and then it all feels like nothing

creation, something so effortless at the mania is now right behind a thin pane of diamond

so drugs.let you take it and half heartedly make it again

until you need more and more to maintain that razors edge you run like an exhausted chimpanzee

some quit in time

some find the balance

a lot overdose because it is better than nothing, the nothing, her nothing but a royal we kind

and then it’s done

thank god

this isn’t a cry for help

it’s casual conversation while drowning

7 thoughts on “a treatise on why bipolar artists overdose

  1. “this lass is anxiety, she is the harbinger of the lady depression” “I cannot and I cannot say why I cannot”

    this piece is as close as it gets to describing the indescribable, drowning while clutching words, the alphabetic
    life preserver…….

    Liked by 1 person

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