On Attention

I am frustrated.
Trying to read my organic chemistry textbook and I'm disturbed by other thoughts.

I should tell Paul about this cool thing.
Could this organic chemistry concept work into a psych paper?
What time is it?
I want to make a video tutorial about that thing.
I can't forget about meeting Claire today!
Did I even eat my Cliff bar this morning?
No. I didn't. Wait a minute.
I'm hungry.
Shit.
Oh yeah, organic chemsitry.

That's a bad example.
I mean, thoughts are not that linear for me.
But also because I'm literally vocalizing the text in my head simultaneously.

Woooaaahh maaaannnn.

... It's noisy and annoying.

But who knows, maybe it's mild schizophrenia.
My anxiety-ridden sister told me she hears voices that tell her to do things.

I don't hear those things.

But I wouldn't be surprised if I had mild schizophrenia.
I do sometimes have a running "static" of gibberish when I'm in silence.

Sigh.

Writing when I'm not having an episode but trying to maintain the same, detached style?
A bit difficult.

How am I doing so far?

Sorry this isn't poetic.
This is really not poetic.

But this is humorous.

Ha.

I just...

I just cannot stop crying.
This is not managed.
This is not okay.

It's serious.

As it stands, I an thinking.
About how my life is crumbling.

Yet nobody knows.
Nobody believes the struggle I face.

At least not to the degree they should.

I just can't relax.
There are countless things to worry about.

If I reduce my course load, I'll be so behind.
If I don't take the classes I plan to take next year, I won't have friends.

And to think my social life was a huge improvement this year so far.
Not quite as bad avoidant personality.

To think it could be gone.

I am terrified.
What should I do.

It would be nice if I had someone to help.

No, I'm Not Fine

The ignorance of it all.

I know it's not your fault.
But no, I am not fine.

I may look fine to you.
But it's all a facade.

In fact, most of the time I'm not even trying.

I guess I'm just used to not showing weakness.
Or simply not wanting to bother someone else with my issues.

You think this is flitting? Frivolous?
I struggle with this every single day.

You only see when I've lost my strength.
A muscle can only actively fire for so long until it has run its stores of ATP.

I need more ATP.

To Be Brave

I feel defeated.
Sleeping is futile.

What of my commitments for the day?
Is it appropriate call in sick?

Not in my experience.

I wish I were brave.

On Sleep

You don't know how much I wish I could have a normal sleep schedule.

You thought this would be poetic from the title, didn't you?

Ha.

No, it's just a statement.

Neglect

"Someone like me? To have an eating disorder? Oh, you don't realize how much that is beneath me."
Is what my narcissism would dictate.

It would say,
"I am so much more sophisticated than that. Manic depression is on tier with genius."

Don't worry, though, I'm not being particularly narcissistic right now.
But I can imagine.

Neglect.

I do neglect my physical health.
But it is not what you think.

When I don't eat I'm not choosing to starve.
I'm simply failing to eat.

When I don't brush my teeth I'm not being lazy.
I'm simply failing to do so.

I realize I'm quite dehydrated today.
Yet I fail to reach for my drink.

Simple as that.

Though, isn't it unfair?
That I can't be trusted for a title like manic depressive?

I'm hardly ever deceptive.
If at all.

I'm straight edge.
I'm safe.
I'm immaculate.
I'm precise.
I'm studious.
I'm brutally honest.

I don't think it's in my capacity to lie.

Not to say I've never done it.
But it's never been particularly successful anyway.

You think I can hide an emotion?
What ever made you think that?

I react.
Fluorine.

I'm volatile.
Ether.

Everything I say.
Every way I act.

It's true as far as I know it.

Streaming

Tears slowly stream down my face.
Though I fail to move, or whimper.

I sit, hollow, yet also so full.

I don't have the motivation to even brush my teeth.
And it's ever worsening.

Delirious.

Thinking about my scholarly career.
Almost voluntarily my stomach drops.

Most people don't see the problem.
I get that.

They simply aren't aware of my struggle.

My grades remain to be what some might call "fantastic".
But that's not my point.

I don't feel like I'm getting the opportunity to learn.
Just that thought makes my throat tighten.

The thing I love more than anything else in the world.
Just that statement gives my lip a stiff quiver.

I sit aghast, mouth open, eyes slowly rolling beyond my control.
And ask myself these questions.

What has become of me?
Why can't I partake in my simple pleasures?
Am I not good enough for this?

How come I can't.