An abstract poem about how it feels in the moments between a manic phase and a depressed phase, through the eyes of a person living with bipolar disorder.
I’m numb
It feels like I’ve been poured out
I’m not sad, I’m not unhappy
I’m not pleased either, I’m not satisfied
There isn’t contentment, nor is there discontent
I’m vacant
I don’t register emotions, neither yours nor my own
I’m unfilled, but I don’t mind
There’s a beautiful balance
But I won’t notice that either, not until it’s gone.
It’s the feeling of anestesia
You know it’s there
You know the knife is close
But you can’t feel the wound until it wears off
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