Journals of my journey
Journey of my journals
Read it all again and I worry
I can see all these hurdles
All the signs were there
but nobody to diagnose it
All that appeared
The writings of any angsty teen
then of a college student
I read them now feeling like I was so stupid
because of the things I can now see
I cringe because I can see the Bipolar
was always there
My reactions and emotions
If only I was aware
Maybe my books would’ve been more open
maybe if way back then
I could’ve gotten help
I’d had more confidence
and the skills to control myself.

They tell me there are no maybes
anyway thinking of them will drive me crazy
but I know my Oppa could’ve saved me.

He’s gone though now
I can look up to all these icons
but I look around
… he’s still gone but I write on.
I read all these poems in his dedication
That long haul of writer’s block
because I couldn’t begin to express the devastation
But found a way to write again so I wouldn’t have to talk…

Yet so many pages unfinished
Now I don’t know what they were about
So were they poems gone unwritten
or random words I had to get out?

Some of them I can’t even recall
writing them at all
because I was self medicating with pills and alcohol.
Reading them is like reading how hard I had to fall
into the addictions
Funny about it all is the words I had written
Were like an admittance
Only when fucked up could I admit it
But once awake
I’d just shake
what was on the page
but even then I couldn’t erase
or rip out the page.

In my journals written
Journeys of Bipolar and addiction
I didn’t know it but something within
must’ve had that conviction
that something wasn’t right with my mind
So all could do was write
in that space and time
to try to find
happiness and peace
but everything written just show a soul in pieces
Now I write trying to flee
thoughts of suicide to confront Jesus

Everything there written
In Journals of prediction
An undiagnosed condition
In my Journeys of Bipolar and addiction


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