MY MANIC OPUS

Part 3 of 4 (Part 1; Part 2)

Dr. Rachel KallemWhitman
2 min readOct 26, 2016

I feel feral and wonderful and I want to take a scissor to my hands because at this point in my Manic episode my blood must sparkle. My body is tense and I punch the floor, where I am slumped, because I fell from my chair — my skeleton forgetting how to keep me upright.

To my dismay I haven’t yet bloodied a single knuckle.

I’m not on drugs, I’m on Bipolar, and she is cruel, beautiful, and engineered to make me soar and crash for eternity.

Like a playlist set on an everlasting loop.

Pittsburgh traffic

Twenty One Pilots calls their music Schizoid Pop and maybe that name is offensive but the lyrics sure are catchy as hell as I scream them into my fists. They do have a point.

And as Kehlani looks lovingly into the microphone and blasts her ballad “CRZY” right in its face, all I can say is that this anthem made her more of an “assassin,” confessing to all of us that “I go I go I go I go…” and everything she does she does with passion, killing them with compassion, and we both tried to kill ourselves.

What are the odds that she sees me through the speakers?

But somehow she knows I’m going going going going CRZY too. We are one in the same but her stomach is tighter and her tattoos send more of message. But it’s hard to decipher her designs over Google image. Maybe we will meet in real life and I will see the secrets inked in her neck tattoo.

I sing “Possum Kingdom” — “be my lover, be my lover” — and — “What is Love” — because what the fuck is (Courtney) LOVE if it isn’t this illness that worships me and then tries to kill me?

But I love my madness anyway. Isn’t love about forgiveness? I forgive you Bipolar. I love you Mania!

I feel like throwing up but I haven’t eaten food in days — my cheeks bleed where I’ve bitten them into swollen crusted cubbyholes. I taste like red salt and nobody loves me but my Mania. Every lyric makes sense and I am let down by real people who say real things off beat.

I just know that each artist left me a line scrawled in invisible ink that is dedicated just to me and it whispers my innermost thoughts and it flickers in the music videos that I drool over.

Part 4

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Dr. Rachel KallemWhitman
Dr. Rachel KallemWhitman

Written by Dr. Rachel KallemWhitman

Educator, advocate, and writer who has been shacking up with bipolar disorder since 2000. The “Dr.” is silent. The bad jokes are loud ❤ seebrightness.com

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