Bipolar Hospital Blues

I am back in the hospital again. I guess running away from this disease is not in the cards. Sometimes you just have to look at it straight at its eyes and tell it that you would not be defeated – that this time there is no more running away. Instead, I am going to fight. I am going to get well and beat this disease.

They gave me my anti-depressants and my mood stabilizers. These are my first line of defense when the disease threatens to engulf me. I know what they say. It will kill my creativity. It will make me a vapid spaced out version of myself.

The first time I was on anti-depressants I could not even write well. My efforts become stunted versions of what could have been.

But maybe, this is what I need. Whenever I am the disease, people around me get hurt. My words can cut deeper than the sharpest knives. My emotions are a mask I wear and whatever they see in that mask fills them with revulsion.

I need this. If that means I have to grind more juice out of this withered, damaged brain of mine, so be it. What used to be easy for me will now be harder tenfold.

But maybe fighting through this fog will help me. Resistance makes you stronger so they say.

I need to change. I need to move forward. I need to fix whatever needs fixing.

Help me, please.

Ang Huling Hugotero