bipolar is all about control and organization and making your own crap make sense to you

and you alone

and in the middle of the nite you re-arrange everything and then you wake up and everything is forgotten and your friend is like where in the fuck is my shit and is in a flurry and angry at you and you are angry at them for not understanding your logic, dis-logic, pretty much, and everyone around you suffers to all hell

but you are suffereing too. you’re “happy” and everyone just sits there and watches your self-nutsy campaign

and no one steps in to save you from yourself and stop your retardedness until you run out of the house and straight to the looner-lodge and make-out with four-point restraints and a tranquilizer needle in yer left hip and you are screaming this is traumatic this is traumatic

and you’re crazy for a little while

a long while

a hell of a long while

and you have to fix yourself with the help of others

but still

nothing can be said in your state to aid in snapping you out of those thoughts in the right way

you can’t even tell your own person how to make it work

and in the looner-lodge things get worse by “getting better” because your psychiatrist only stops by a couple days in the 7 day stretsh you are there and the nurses mind-fuck you and so do the other patients because they are schizophrenic, scam artists, suicidal, EVERYTHING you could dream of.

this is not ‘nam, walter.