BIPOLAR.

Bipolar in woman is rare but it exists. Bipolar in women is the one indicator of a women under-earth threshold of the societal formalities she must follow to the point of no return. Who am I? I lost my sense of self, my sense of purpose and filled my life with meaningful, but purposeful reasons to exist. The head is filling up with nowhere to go. The head is filling up with a knot that is going to take your life if it becomes so tangled that it doesn't come undone. Let's go back to the beginning. Your mother was born in a household where she was, the caretaker. She didn't know anything about herself but to take care. That's all I know. That's all I’ll be. It became a staple in my head called bipolar disorder. I am lone in she, her, women, or any feminine pronoun of the word. I am a caretaker once and for all. They all see me as a women but I don't feel like embodiment of one, but the disorder in my head is pulling everything back so you see me as such. A lion stuck inside of a ball with nowhere to go, but up and keep it that way until I fall and fall into a pattern of ups and downs that destroy my family, myself and most dangerous would be destroying those around me with the ball of darkness in my head that can no longer detain itself. I found light and I want to come undone. Do you want me to keep it all in and become a knot. A knot with a signed sealed to suicide. A suicide that calls my name in the form of the troubles of my mind and the troubles of my children that need a mother and a father but i stay strong to be a missing father but a mother to those around with the troubles of my heart. If not suicide, I throw the words and the hits that hit like no other. Hit you with the words that hurt you under the skin to your heart and the skin of your heart will take a long to heal if not approved with healing. Women throw hits and punches and suicide threats with the memory inside of them that won't come out. Women throw love in fits of anger that need to come unballed into a string of yarn that lead down to the heart of my beating heart with the hurt of a mother trying to keep it together. I don't hate you, I hate everything about you because you could untangle and become so much more than I ever was. I don't hate you because of who the character you're character you're playing so well that could only being seen with a shattered matter of a women's heart as she holds a piece of shattered glass. Women have so much anger so deep down that they bring it back up because they have no where to go but the person underneath the title of Mother. It's suicide and letting my bad blood pour out of me into the palms of the person that hurt me the most, or treating myself with dignity and releasing my anger out into my kids and letting them hate their mother as she pours out into an array of suicide lettered notes that no one got to read. Bipolar is a disorder that calls for the attention of those around them, not the people they chose to be around. Bipolar starts at home, starts back home or leads into future homes of mothers who retain the hate or love they have for their mother's. Bipolar hurts the heart of the mother, daughter, women, girl or girl that's a women but doesn't feel like her mother and not women enough. The loops of the mind that play on your brain will lead you to different avenues of realms of different people that hurt you the most as you beg of them to release their inner-seld out so she can finally love a person of being, not a person behind a mask that doesn't budge with the correct mother that carried them into adulthood. A mother that doesn't know her own children, to the point of forgetting their father or wait, their husband. No longer a husband but a spouse. I am living to live. Not to live for a purpose but to live with a purpose of a dark whole my family won't ever know I’m missing. Am I crazy, losing my mind or letting the disorder turn into a polar opposite side of thinking of things that don't make sense anymore. There's the left and the right but the center hurts too much. The center and the forward looking light is too much to let in your heart so you can insert it into your heart and let it simmer with the feelings of the emotion you've even holding in with a spear with the name of anyone that got too close. Bipolar would have you choosing the upper, crazy instead of the middle with the right path for your life to have meaning. Suicide or the brink of insanity. The brink of insanity. Bipolar Disorder. Women insult, men hit, women scream, men yell but women are the one’s to blame. The credit is never placed where it needs to be placed. I fight but I fight to fight robots and get nowhere. Where’s all the credit of the women I can come to be. The women I fought to be. I want to be a women and nothing else but I feel deep into a disorder that leads me in bipolar opposite sides. I have two faces, the good one and the one they all see. Which one is going to win the war? The good one that fights and gets nowhere or the bad one that everybody has gotten to know and it’s difficult to break down into a puddle of my own disorder that no one can get me out of but the people that love me the most.  

SCIENCE:

BIPOLAR DISORDER

WOMEN GET IT FROM TRAUMA

TRAUMA COMES FROM KIDS

KIDS COME FROM BAD FATHERS

FATHERS COME FROM BAD MOTHERS

MOTHER’S COME FROM BAD HOMES.