In the Middle of the Summer Solstice

In the middle of the summer solstice I found the solemn of my soul succumbing into the abyss of obstruction. I cried into the depths of my limit and now I finally, found the tranquility. Sadness seems to fade out, it flew far away from me. Letting me uncaged into this four walled room. I was years confined into the platform begging to see the real world with colors of the rainbow. Long ago, I was figuratively blind. Nothing seems to comfort me than darkness that never leaves me behind. It was my comfort, then. That time, it was the only thing that never allows me to feel alone. It treasured me more than anyone else. It understands me when no one else can’t. It saw me in a state I can’t even recognized myself. I gradually fell into the comforts of it. And I might say, even fell for it. It hugged me in the coldness of the weather, blew air for me when I stickily drenched by my own smelly sweat. It was there when seasons changed. 

Darkness becomes my salvation. 

It doesn’t make me feel less of my worth. It makes me feel that I deserve everything in this grandeur life. It offers me and showered me with all the little things and appreciates me with all the imperfections that I have had in and out of me. It makes me feel perfect when all I can see is a shattered and broken glass that I, myself seems hard to fix. 

In your confinement, you gave me hope. It help me bloom from a small bud to a beautiful and colorful flower. It help me nurture, mold, and hone my whole being. It never give up on me when everyone else seems to. It cheer me up. It praised and gave me compliment that makes me bloom into a positive human. It help me climb unto the top. It erased my hesitation, killed my frustration, and heals my depression. 

And now, that the darkness urges me to see the light I comply gladly for it see that I am ready to face the world.

Thank you for everything you have unconditionally given me. 

BIPOLAR

Hey guys! It's already 3:00 am, yet I am still here wide awake. I came from a walk and decided to get my phone, accessing my diary rather my blog to frantically type the story that I made up in my mind while taking a breather earlier. 

Now, my fingers are itching to key in every word my brain is vomiting. My adrenaline rush is jolting to give you all the details, so without further ado, I am pleased to meet you the protagonist of this woven words... Maine Hyde.

***

With the town of West Ham, rampant news broke the silence when a series of murder and missing people is happening around the municipality in a span of one month. 

In the help of the media, police officials announce highly security and safety among the locals, advising everyone to be aware and safe, and the fact that the liberality of the culprit behind the on-going crimes is still unknown.

Maine turn off the boob tube and started to busy herself with the fresh develop photographs in her hand. She scanned it one by one with satisfaction. She captured it nicely in every angle that emphasizes its subject with great focus. Some photos were saved in an envelope whilst some was taped on the wall alongside her other photographs as her collection.

She almost jumped when her mobile phone alarms. She immediately dismissed it after reading, "Am I incurable?" label reminding her to drink medication in order for her to get better. But the question is, is she really getting better? Her bipolar disorder is not incurable and she is not getting any better, instead it made her worst - worst in a way that she sees herself as some kind of an awful monster. 

***

Darkness is her salvation. Every night, she succumbs in sadness; depression is eating her wholly. Tears stream down her face as she dwells into a profound reflection. Horrible thoughts haunt her making her an insomniac. Her mood is a quick alteration of white to black.

She get up in bed with a heavy feeling, she walks straight to the fridge and get one of those red filled liquid bottle and gulp it thirstily. 

"This can really pump my blood and makes me feel good. I feel so regenerate. Tomorrow is another day, another surprise to unveil. Letters and pictures will send to fuel up the fire I have made.”

Using her index finger, she wiped the red liquid in her lips coming from the vermillion border to the Cupid’s bow and sucks it, "How fresh the blood of the latest victim is?" she grins devilishly.

Tomorrow I’m still the protagonist. And no one can really trace me. I am leaving this rented house and transfer to a new town to create another wildfire.

***

Another tale has been posted; wait for my next blog because another story will be documented.

Remember your imagination is my reality.