Tag Archives: bipolar 2

Love

Dear mother,
I fought for my life for you, won’t you do the same for me?
Please watch your sugar.
Love, your daughter

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Result of sexual assault pt.2

 As I post this I want my readers to know how sorry I am for not posting last Monday as it simply slipped my mind. In reconciliation I am posting the prequel now and the next essay tomorrow. Thank you and enjoy.

The confessions of a monster
The night he turned me

As a dreadful story is about to be told. There must be a dreadful weather to go along.

Raining, nearly storming outside. She sits on her bed, not cold nor scared. She lies warmly in her blanket.As she cuddles into safety she drifts off to sleep. Little does she know of the fate that lies before her. Will she remember at all, of the girl she was before?

One step two steps, a few steps taken quietly. In the blackened darkness along the hallway. One step two steps a few steps and his in the doorway. He sneaks in, his in her room. Staring at her as she lies in wait. He sees her calmly beauty. He lusts and trusts her body. He knows she’ll want this, he knows she’ll be happy, he knows she’ll understand him and he also knows she is asleep.

He gets excited by his choice, he drops to his knees, aside the bed he sits. The duvet lies limply over her thinly body. His hand finds its way under the duvet. His hand brushes her thigh. He stops to notice she is still in a deep slumber. He moves his hand he slips it into her pants. He knows now his come too far to turn back. With courage he must continue the ritual of turning her.

He touches her, he begins to massage, and it feels so good she thinks, yet in her sleep she is clueless. He begins to rub, forming circles around her cunt. He cannot stop, it’s all he hoped for. He goes faster and faster. His eyes grow wider and wider. He stares at her beautiful face, he is so sorry now. He is a monster. He has come with purpose yet his ready to leave only with sorrow.

She turns her head to face him, her eyes gently open. Say it isn’t so, she knows what is happening. He jumps up and tells to go back to sleep. His eyes are in terrifying shock. He runs out the room. One step two steps he sneaks back to bed.

She just lying. She just wondering. She wants to sleep she is so tired. Tears are forming, her eyes are soaking. What now she wonders. The tears are falling her heart is breaking, she is so confused can someone please save her. Is there any light out there? Please someone help her.

The darkness, for the first time, has never been so empty. Her thoughts are blank, her body in shock. What more can she do then stare into nothingness. She listens to the pouring rain, she use to believe it a beautiful thing but, now it’s only despairing and it will forever remind her of this night.

Just then an angel appears. An angel of gold with white light emitting from it to brighten the whole room like lightening would. Her heart is beating fast as she stares at the angel’s striking eyes. She knew it, she knew she lost her life tonight and the angel is here to fetch her. To free her soul of this horror. The angel will lift this girl’s burdens and fears off her shoulders.

It comes closer to her. Her eyes shut tight to keep out the bright light. The angel kisses her gently on the mouth. She never felt such softness nor believed in such gentleness and it would be the very last time. As the angel pulls away slowly, away with the angel goes her soul. She is left in her room, as an empty shell

Never before has she felt like there was a dark hole inside of her. She is hollow, she has lost everything good in her. She will lie in the darkness and cry and cry, for the angel to bring back her soul.

But until then, she will wait. And as she waits, the hole will grow larger and deeper. She will become more lost as time goes by. She will be alone, she knows, she will have no love, she knows. This hole she will try to fill with exhausted love and tired want. She is a dead girl, she can dump anything inside her, good or bad and she will lose it to the dark hole.

Now she sees herself, just like the pitiful monster that made her, she can only fill the whole with abuse. Constant, ongoing and relentless manipulative abuse.

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Cry Like a Waterfall

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It starts the same every time. I sit and lie on my bed thinking of how painful it is to live. How a life can be so hard for some. I know they have a purpose. I know everything in nature has a pattern and meaning. And often amounts to something great. but it’s so hard. Their lives have maybe more importance, or maybe just the same as people who are doing well. No one has a perfect life, but some lives are just so much easier to live. Thinking about the fames in warzone countries in Africa, trickles of water rolls out of my eyes and along my cheek. Here we go again. Im going to cry and cry. The world won’t change. Why do I need to cry? I feel worse after anyway, with a stuffy nose and puffy eyes. The salty tears increases, I’m definitely crying now. I shift over to my dressing table and stare into my painstaking soul. Why can’t I save the world?

 I watch the abundance of tears that flow out of my eyes. I imagine myself as a huge beautiful mountain. With little bits of jagged edges. Dark shadows below the light green trees. And bright white flowers growing from in between the cracks.

Towards the end of the mountain is gushing water. Flowing rapidly over the protruding rocks at the bottom of the mountain. It’s beautiful and perfect. White and bright blue sparkling water against shades of brown of the mountain. Like a painting, a masterpiece I am.

As I cry and cry hoping it will help, I realise: “Oh dear the mountain is drowning.” Surrounded by water that rises a centimetre daily. Slowly, slowly this mountain will no longer be. A huge eye, formed by the edges of the mountain, is crying, water pouring over the rocks. The mountain is drowning itself. Consumed by its own pain.

Nothing helps. Not tears. Not knives. I cannot help myself. No one can help me. A dark room a dark world, the pain just increases day by day. I can hear the cries of millions of people. Ringing in my ears are the struggles of children. Children younger than me in worse situations.

Rocky mountains stand beside it. Dry and hot. But taller than ever. My masterpiece my beauty, is just entrapment. No hands to wipe the tears. No legs to run away. No resources to save the world.

But wait! This amazing scenery makes the world happy. People are happy to see such beauty, furthermore this mountain has a purpose. It grows flowers and trees that help the earth. It creates shallow gushing water so bears can feed on fish. And don’t forget the adventure seeking river rafters, they love rapids.

“Wait what are you doing?” A voice in my head asks. “We sad right now. Don’t try to use that positive shit on me. I’m not happy. I don’t want to be happy. I’m feeling down, down as low as the waterfall, falling to my death. I’m not making up positive thoughts in my head. That just irritates my sad. My sad needs to live and be expressed.”

I am a mountain: Isolated, immovable and eventually non-existent.    

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Bi Polar is like schizophrenia?

 

A deeper Look

I have found according to research found in recent scholarly articles that they cannot find the cause of bipolar disorder. Studies showed that a bipolar person is not bi polar due to their circumstances. However, a person’s bipolar may flare up due to unstable living conditions such as, abusive parents or socio-economic status or alcoholic/drug addict parents.

Further research shows that bipolar is a similar case to schizophrenia. That is, schizophrenia and bipolar are most likely due to genetics. I know that they have recently found the specific gene that makes someone schizophrenic, and can perform an operation to remove this gene. If they had the gene to remove bipolar, if the ’genetics theory’ is true, would you give up bipolar?

I find it’s as if you removing a part of you. Well if I was schizophrenic than definitely, that’s a lot harder to live with. But regarding bi polar? Than you may as well call us all sheep. I think the medication keeps us sane and yet capable of being different all at once. But then again I have only been on medication for about 4 months. I haven’t even had a relapse as yet.

Everything I look at is the colour red. My peripheral vision is absolutely blur. Im focused on my target. I zoom in like it’s a videogame and analyse:

Pillow. Soft. Indestructible. Safe. Bang! I hit my fists against it. No satisfaction, I try hitting harder over and over again. No satisfaction. I need to ruin something, disintegrate parts of the earth. Make sense of our worthless existence. Make sense of the fact that death means nothing. Living is worse. But why would we still choose it. Why don’t I ever die?

BREAK THE F!*@EN WORLD!! Running around in circles in my room. I have no idea where to go and what to do. I cannot cope with being me, I desperately need freedom. Like a bird in the sky, or a wild wolf on the prow. ‘I’m going to hurt someone, I’m going to hurt someone’ I repeatedly say in the back of my mind as I try to think of a clever way to ruin something on this earth. The most fun is always people. They somewhat easy targets, but they’re the best, because they’re a challenge. Psychological and philosophical theories put in to practice by me.

My life is like a page out of Charles dickens books. Grey c obblestone and dark mist. A world filled with abuse, pain and unfairness. I drop to the ground as I motion my arm to stab the ground. Blood spits out from the ground and I scream, “I hate this place!”

“Oh please” says my ‘mrs Logical voice’, “you hate the entire world, not just this place, stop pretending this is the root of all your problems. Now get up and carry on with your life.” I begin to stand up from the ground when my eyes jerk forward, for me to realise that I completely zoned out. I find myself standing at the centre of the school, completely disorientated.

I carry on, as if everything is normal and meet my first possible target. Anonymous one smiles at me as I walk close, but all I think of is pushing her against the wall, holding her by her throat and telling her that’s she’s a flirt and a slut. Anonymous two stand beside her and smiles at me too. She’s not a worth playing with, this is a game of wits, she’s just an ant that’s easy to flick away. After sharing smiles and friendly hugs I enter the classroom. With a coolness to my walk, I drop my bag beside the table and sit on my seat.

Focus. Target. Attack. I found her. Watch me play this all day!

A story of how ‘how to win friends and influence people’ was like my bible, in the next post, get posted via email!

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