I (Didn’t) Kill Myself: The Bipolar Edition

I don’t think anyone could have saved me. Not Jesus, not the warmth of a small child, not a favorite song or a cry from a friend, “How could you be so selfish?!”
How did they not see – how to we not see – that it isn’t about selfishness. It’s about escaping from a prison. You can’t tell me to hold on when absolutely nothing within me believes there is anything worth holding on for.

a frayed string

I’m after a chance of hope, the last sputter of light from a dying fire, wondering why you won’t send off a brighter spark for me.