Bipolar disorder. This is not the mantle I would have chosen to put on my shoulders.

This is not the cause whose voice I would have liked to be.

Although my shoulders are broad, my shoulders are strong. I have to wear it.

My voice is pure and carries far, I have no choice, I have to sing this song.

So I do, I wear the mantle and I sing its song.

I would have preferred something softer, lighter, airier, sky blue in color.

Not heavy and dark, with terrifying images and a sharp, cutting, bloodying texture.

I had no choice. I inherited it.

And so I go on, I hush the fear in my breast, I quell the anxiety.

I quiet my mind and I go on.

For the people in my life whom I love more than life itself.

My son, my brother, my sister, my nephew, my niece, my husband.

These are my rocks and in return I am theirs.

No matter what I go through, no matter how lost I feel, no matter how much of a shadow of my former self I am. I go on, I wear my mantle, I sing my song and I live for them.