Bipolar poem

Hello,

I introduced myself in the introduction section of the forum but just in case you haven't been there yet: My name is Amy and I am bipolar I with many other mental issues tacked on for good luck. I also found a positive outlet for my illness in the form of writing. I tried painting but all I could draw are stick figures and that was more depressing than actually having bipolar itself. I started to put my thoughts to 'screen', because who actually holds a pen nowadays? Anyways, I found that pressing keys on my laptop is very positive for me.

I grew up in the 70's/80's. I loved a poet by the name of Shel Silverstein. He wrote my favorite book of poems, Where the Sidewalk Ends. There is this poem in that book titled: 'I Can Not Go to School Today'. I 'heart' that poem. I decided to re-write that poem from the perspective of a person with bipolar who can not go to work. I mean it as a tongue and cheek.

I Can Not Go To Work Today


“I cannot go to work today,”
Said little Peggy Ann McKay.
I have bipolar and OCD,
Depression and anxiety.
My head is fuzzy, my mind ain’t right,
I’m I haven’t slept for 16 nights.
My mind is making up new brand new friends,
To share the night with me, as time extends
And there’s one more—that’s seventeen,
And don’t you think those men look green?
My minds is heavy, and it’s hazy —
There is no doubt bipolar makes me crazy.
I shake and queeze, and cry and, choke.
No ones paid me so I am broke
My heart hurts when I talk ,
My brain screams with my thoughts,
My body aches with the pain,
My mood worsens with the rain.
My feelings get so numb,
I know that I close to being done.
My mind races, my body's weak
It makes me feel like a freak.
I am so tired but I can not sleep,
I take pills instead of counting sheep.
My friends ask what is wrong,
Go back to work, you are strong.
But they can not hear,
The voices in my ear.
I have too many pills to take—what?
What’s that? What’s that you say?
You say today is… Saturday?
G’bye, I’m going out to play!”

*For the record Saturdays and Sundays are my least favorite days. I seem to feel the worse on those days. I look forward to them so much. Then they arrive and I am flat on my face leaving my husband and daughter left to their own devices. What are you gonna do? Bipolar just plain sucks!

I will be here sending positive hugs to everyone.

PS: I have lived every moment of this poem. (Maybe not the green men.) I have accepted that I am bipolar...for the most part

very nice guys.

hi amy, hi happy bill. jamie