𝕥ⓗｅ gᒪ𝕀丅¢ⓗ 𝔠Ⓨ¢ᒪｅ

Up and down,

Up and down—

Oh, a left?

Up and down.

A loop.

A glitch.

A slog through

two months of bed rot.

Only to wake one morning

with the energy of an Olympic gold medalist.

To finally your medication.

To feel the urge to joke—

to laugh—again.

That indescribable feeling:

your soul re-tying the knot

that tethers you to reality,

letting you float just above the ground

instead of drifting into the void.

The medical term is hypomania.

Not full manic, no,

but the superpower of functioning.

Of not feeling like you’re drowning in tar

with every breath and movement.

Is this how your everyday, run-of-the-mill average Joe feels?

It’s no wonder average society expects so much of me.

To be this free—almost every single day—

must be so empowering.

I would do unspeakable things to feel this way every day.

To glide through life,

shouldering every worry and care

with effortless grace.

But it won’t last.

It never does.

Never as long as the dread.

Never as long as the heavy fog.

When the fog does settle once again,

when oil floods my lungs

and chokes me into submission of defeat,

I’ll cling to the spark of light—

knowing the glitch always comes full circle.

Even if only for a couple of days.