Memories give me strength. Memories encourage me to keep going. My past is an obstacle I'll never let go of. It guided me to where I am today. But, I cannot deny this. It hurt me along the way. It showed me reasons, reasons I cannot forget. It showed me horror, and pain I cannot let go. I try to let go. Every waking moment, I try so hard. But as I look to my dreams, I am chained with scars. I think of them. I think of why I'll always have them. I think of the pain they gave me, even now, in the form of a phantom. But I breathe. I choose to breathe. And I listen, in silence to my heart which speaks to me when thought has little sound. I know who I am. I know what I can become. I know all this, because, I know where I come from. I come from a home. I come from a place of love. But it is this very love that grants me my sadness. It is this very love that unleashes my anger. And to be honest it's this very anger that makes me a man.
I hide it though. I hide it with fake smiles. I hide it with tears that are shared. I hide it behind a soft exterior. I am honest about my hurt. But I am dishonest with myself. I play dumb when I look at the man in the mirror. I awake with a fire underneath me. But I ignore it and let it burn me. And this is why I have so many scars. This is why I aim so far, but I let life win the race. I speak to you about mental health. I speak about happiness. I speak about vitality and a life filled with purpose and substance. But I forget what I know, for I ignore how I truly am. I am happy, because I do not carry shame. But I am angry because I live a life where I do not reveal my true name.
I die with every choice that I choose to regret. And so I live a life where it hurts to hide for I know such an act is living a lie. I want to be strong. I want the pain to move on. I want to dream as if I can live forever, and live as if I my dreams are real. But how can this be, when I'm not honest with how I feel?
When I play Biggie in the car or Tupac on my headphones, I get riled up. I think of how tough I am. I think of how much I have overcome. I think that I can do anything anyone or any man can do. And I carry myself, with a confidence that I hide when I mask who I truly am. I try so hard to be nice. I fucking lie inside so much though. I'm a man, I'm not some pussy that's gonna give up!
I'm bipolar. But bipolar isn't me.
I'm strong, and I don't always show it because far too often I beg for you to see my sadness, but not my courage. I beg to be seen as brave for showing what bipolar really is, but I forget to show the anger it creates that fuels me, and only makes me want to be a better man. I distract myself by being too sensitive and I forget to show an exterior that I really only consistently carry when I have moments in which I am alone and in which I escape. The very moments where I dream while I'm awake. What am I trying to prove? I know who I am. And when I remember that, I remember that I do love myself. And when I love myself, less pain is felt, and I don't feel the anger that far too often I mask with forced vulnerability. I do something with it instead!
I am angry, angry at myself, but I try so hard to do good with it, and now, I know, I will only do better. I will channel it. I will use it. I may only be human, simply one man, but I am alive and I will make a choice. I choose to be honest. I choose to embrace my sadness, chase my happiness, and shed my anger by making use of it. I choose to make the right choices. I will live better. I will let my feelings guide me to where I want to be. I will not lie. More importantly, I will not lie to me. I will look in the mirror and see the man staring back and I will tell him what to do.
I will listen.