You

Listen to the whispers and speak them loudly. Remember what is spoken to you in the darkness and bring it to the light. Don't feel that everything you do or say will be scrutinized. You must be free to live and be a mind that is its own and no one else's. Embrace the person who's inside you, leading you into a better existence. Feel you are not one in a million, but the only one of those million who is you.

Leave it alone

I get really excited and thrilled about everything. The world seems two shades brighter with yellow hues shading every object corner. Its so pretty, life is. The world is a beautiful and prosperous place. Everything is still but not at all stagnate. I can hear bugs crawling, eggs hatching, birds tweeting in the distance. A little kid's smile is so spiritual, I can hear its wings flapping in the breeze. Tears of joy stream down my face as I feel lucky to be able to witness such beauty. Words cannot explain the feelings inside wanting to sing and dance on top a mountain like the sound of music. Then someone says something that reminds me of pain and hurt and all that beauty and joy slips from my grip and I have no regards for anything this place has to offer. I just want silence. The world is no longer still. It is moving at an uncontrollable rate and I want it to stop. I want everyone to stop. Everything is so loud and impatient. I have no desire to be generative. I just want to be still and silent with my heart beat. They say depression is anger turned inward. I don't feel angered, just out of place. I want to live underground and speak to no one. Regular people seem somewhat devious and narcissistic. It takes a while to become uppety again, but when I need to be there, my brain kicks in. I can be whoever you want me to be if I just wash my face. I refuse to call it a disorder. It is actually very orderly. I have my manic episodes to thank for my over-achieving attitude and accomplishments. Hey, I would not have won student of the year in college if I didn't stay up all night writing exquisite essays that had heart and soul. I would not take on so much responsibility if I didn't go manic. When I come down from my mania, I am very lazy, but I deserve to be lazy. The term "bipolar disorder" loomed only as an outgrowth of happenstance; the medical field needed to categorize a group of very interesting, spiritual, and passionate people. I will not medicate my "symptoms". They are mere images of a imperfect perfection.

Little lost souls

These girls are so young, 9, 10, or 11. They come to school wearing clothes from their pregnant sisters' closets. They try to be kids at school and learn what they need, but they're constantly reminded of what grown ups they already have to be. Their moms are at work till they go to sleep and their daddy's are only around sometimes. I see these children each day battling life as they leave class, roaming the streets with high schoolers. I have no idea what goes on after dark if their only role models are ones who are also lost. I saw their profiles on myspace, lying about their age. Pretending they are 14 so they can meet older boys. They've learned nothing from their older sisters who went down the same path and now have a baby at 16. They are hopelessly starving for attention and affection as they are constantly in trouble for doing it the wrong way. We want to help as much as we can, but theres only so much one can do sitting behind a desk. With rules, red tape, policies and conflicting interests, the workers' agendas come to live as more important than those little lost souls just trying to make it in a world so cold. I wish I could scoop each one up with my hand and sprinke them with magic fairy dust that will make their sorrows go away.

They Don't Know About My Observations

Her time is so precious, she has nothing to give. She's busy and preoccupied with just trying to live. Her husband has a mistress and she knows very well. Her friends catch him calling her from the backroom but won't tell . Its a little unnerving that he does it when she's there, but her pre- obligations have forced her to share. She's lying in bed wondering where they went wrong, living a weird life out of sad country song. One day when her life became too much to face, she didn't show up at her usual work place. Her friends called her up to see if she was sick, but didn't ask her husband who was on the phone with that chick. Later that day, they heard the ambulence come to the house across the street where she was found by a bum. In the back yard where she lay one shot to the head, her husband had no idea because he was in another girl's bed.

Be Yourself

Why are so many people in the world trying to leave their life to see what else there is? Trying to mold their personalities to fit the context. There will always be you following you and you can't escape yourself no matter where you go and who you try to be. Being ourselves is what our creator intended for us to do. Being you at your full potential is better than being like someone else at second best.