What Goes Up: A Spoken Word Piece on Bipolar Disorder


You are the Prince of a Dynasty of Kooks.  Royal lineage born to you from your mother, whose crown was given to her from her father.  Red and blue thread wrap around your skull and you had no idea. You saw the Queen suffer, and you cast a spell to the wind, "Please let it skip a generation." But you take up the mantle. The sun beats down on your back, the brightness fills your eyes, awaking the creature within. Your mouth smiles in manic bliss as you run to the lightrail, widening the gap between you and your family. Who knew how good it would feel to run? Miles pass under your feet and yet, you aren't tired. Looking for the meaning of life in gas station attendants and taxi cab drivers. You haven't slept in three days. Then finally, an over-the-counter bottle of pills seems to subdue you, but you are only sleeping. Your father has seen this all before. The moon rotates the Earth and reality sets in. What goes up must come down. It starts to rain. Harder now. Darker now. The storm wracks your ship and threatens to capsize you. You don't understand, as you watch your friends sail smoothly. Don't they feel it too? Stress binds you like rope and your mouth contorts as you cry. Crying for help, crying for escape, crying for release. Your eyes are of fire and ice, simultaneously. You are two sides of one coin. Your voice laughs and screams and falters.  You trade in your crown for atypical antipsychotics, and you come back to Earth. But you still are afraid. You cast another spell, praying that the bars will hold the monster. What goes up must come down.


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