putrefaction.

Photos by Me

I can’t wait till I see the angel and the pain slowly fades away, hopefully my hands will be wrinkled, but I don’t know if I will last that long. God knows I’m tired, but he continues to let me live in this purgatory, I wish I believed in the book because maybe it would help this all make some sense, have a meaning? but I fear that I’m enduring this for nothing, no outcome, no reason, no happy endings. My eyes glaze over as I sit watching the tv flicker, these images I see don’t reflect a life I would be allowed to live, instead I seek comfort in a synthetic reality, the doctors won’t help me anymore because I’m resistant to the chemicals they feed me, let me sleep I cry, I’m so so tired

I haven't written on here in a while, use to be my dairy. I tried to get sober, tried. it's not really working out but I'm trying I guess, they put me on some new mood stabilisers recently, they help somewhat but not enough. My creativity dampening is driving me up the wall, I know what other fellow bipolar ppl mean when they say that they feel like there creativity spark is gone, I guess thats the sacrifice we make to stay well. everything's changed. they make me so jumpy and twitchy. not myself anymore.