Words. Words. Words.

Anxiety. All the time.

In crowded restaurants.

At the movies.

Wanting to bolt and run and

Scream.

Tears that won’t come.

Welling up.

Behind my eyes.

In my brain.

Wanting to pour forth and drench my face

While I scream.

There’s nothing there.

No reason.

No sound reason.

Just the gut churning

Racing thoughts.

If I had hair,

I’d pull it out and

Scream.

It’s not like ants crawling on my skin.

It’s like ants in my soul.

Soul.

Scream.

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6 thoughts on “Words. Words. Words.

  1. This is at once beautiful and painful to read. In so few words, you said so much of what it feels like to be in a bipolar brain, a bipolar body. Just the fact that you can write about it speaks volumes on your inner strength. Writing indeed helps sort out what’s in our heads and helps us stay self-aware, so kudos to you for not only writing, but also for sharing so openly. Please know you are not alone. And your voice is so very important. Keep at it.

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