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.