A smear on the earth. Dreams that bleed into reality.
Pressured speech is a common symptom of bipolar disorder and other mental health conditions. It typically occurs when a person is experiencing manic episodes. During this time, a person may feel compelled to speak quickly, erratically, and without stopping.
My mind flows from my mouth, and people understand that I make no sense. I can't speak, can't spell, can't eat. It's all bleeding, watercolor spreading, flowing around me in deep auras. My mind purses its lips around every pretty word, glimmer, shatter, fault, smear, groan, pulse.
See myself in the porcelain dolls hanging in plastic at the secondhand store. Splinter in the meat aisle, shake apart and babble, let the apologetic tears flow out. Unabashed. Eye contact with the coffee shop worker, spitting mean words loud enough that she hears. Cry by the cart corral, on the toilet and the couch. Feel like a horror, a ghastly glow.
Pick yourself to pieces and put them back together, something similar to the shadow of yourself, but never the same.
Alterations. Shedding pounds because nurturing yourself feels like an inconvenience, bypass the hurdle and keep going.
I feel like I’m watching myself fuck up from the outside, I’m watching a slasher. Awaiting a victim, scream and writhe on the floor and gush until you fade out. The minutes rush by. I am meeting myself for the first time. I don’t like her, but I need her to love me.
Viral infection, an obsession you can never quite kick. Dreamy dark violence. I can never stop talking, conversations with myself in the night, with my laptop, with my phone, rattling out loud and rambling to the disturbance of others. I am not myself. I am not myself, but it feels like I’m finally breaking free. I feel like I need to be alone to lessen the damage of my self-destruction.
Do you hate me? I think I can read your mind. I feel like I’ll throw up my heart, my lungs, all those pills. But I need all of that. Mostly the pills.
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