Trying

Everyday is a battle.
Everday is a struggle.
Everyday is a decision made to stay in the game.
To stay alive.
To stay sane.
Everyday I get up and I do the usual.
Shower
Class
Homework
Work
Homework
Sleep
Repeat.
This gets mundane to say the least.
As person with bipolar disorder, I crave constant change.
I thrive on it.
I love not knowing what the next minute is going to bring.
But at the same time.
I like to plan.
No. I love to plan.
I love planning out every thing I'm going to do that day.
Am I going to get it all done?
Who knows.
Literally no one, not even myself.
My life runs in circles.
Do this.
Don't do that.
Make sure you do this.
Oh and don't forget this.
Everyday is the same old game.
Everyday is like a never ending labrynith.
I'm fighting my way to the end of the maze,
Constantly one step behind the rest.
Occasionally though, my pace picks up and I sprint toward the front.
Which lasts for 5 seconds until my energy runs out.
Everyday is a choice for me.
Everyday I choose what to wear,
How to do  my make up,
What I may or may not eat for breakfast,
Who to talk to,
When to do my homework,
If I take my meds,
If I try to sleep on time,
If I choose to keep going.
Its all my choice.
Until it isn't.
Until its 4am and my head is screaming and my life seems like its falling apart and nothing seems right and everything is wrong and all I do is try and try and try nothing comes of it and everything is mess and nobody cares and I don't matter and the world would be better off without me, and there isn't anyway to make it better and i'm screaming, screaming, screaming and no one hears me, they are all in the room, all talking to eachother and i'm in the middle of the room begging for someone to notice.
And then.
It's 10am.
And I'm breathing again.
I take a bath,
Or read a book,
Or light a candle,
And play music,
And take stock of what I'm doing right.
And then I choose to wake up,
And put aside my anxieties
And attack the next day with enthusiasm.
Repeat.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Until its rountine.
Which I hate.
No one asks.
No one cares.
Everyday is decision to walk alone.
Everyday is a decision of who to tell.
And those that are chosen don't realize that I'm reaching out,
That I need help,
That I'm dying inside.
I'm left behind,
Forgotten,
Unable to remind anyone that  I exist.
All I do everyday is try to breathe.
And listen,
And learn,
And see what everyone else is going through.
Because my hard isn't comparable to their hard.
My hard is easier than their hard.
Because for someone else their pain is always greater than someone else's.
And So.
Everyday is a battle.
Everyday is a struggle
Everyday is choice