The funk

I have really become really good at suppressing my feelings th last year or so, no angry outbursts, no expression of emotion, except this sunny disposition i always carry. Part of me, no most of me hoping maybe if i fake it long enough it will turn real.
Most of the time it works, since i push all my problems to the back of my head and if i catch a glimpse of it, i turn to the other side. So here i walk, no fear in my stride, no pain on my face, as i lie to myself all is good with my life. I guess i didn't count on the funk.
Yeah, i found a name for it, "the funk". That ghost who rules my mind. He likes to let me think i'm free and i control all that i am and will be...though now it's 'could be'. Because he occasionally likes to remind me who's boss and yanks at my mind to spiral me into that random mood or whatever the fuck he deems fit. So now i'm face to face with everything i'd thrown under the rug.
Everyday i come across hundreds of faces. Everyday i hear people laugh, as i watch them go about their lives. I also hear tales of suffering and evil. Everyday i meet new people. From that girl who'l get googly eyed over me because she see's something i honestly never see in me, to that guy who wants us to be best buds, and also see's something in me that i don't.
Each time i look in me i sometimes imagine i can hear God chuckle. You know, that silent chuckle when i turn around after talking to him, as he nudges his son with his elbow. I hate thinking life is one big joke to Him, not for fear of blasphemy, but the fear that if it's true then all this suffering is not the setup to something good, but just a cruel result of somebody's sick sense of humour.
So who am i? I'm not the first person to be bipolar, neither will i be the last, so why should my problems matter?
At times like these when i'm in the grip of the funk and there is no alcohol or sleeping pills at hand i just turn and face the huge gap it has left in my soul, each time digging deeper. The rationality it took from me to the point even normal me barely has any emotional connection to most people. Do you know how frustrating it is to be around 'friends' yet there is that huge emptiness in you that you can never fill(ok, most of them are backstabbing bastards and probably deserve hell's wrath). Being lonely among your friends is akin to water everywhere and not a drop to drink. It's worse, when you are with that somebody who is probably the only one you can really 'feel'/connect to, and understands you. You know they deserve all the good you have to offer and worth a shot. But it's impossible to tell them because your damaged soul tells you "they'll probably leave anyway, they all do eventually". It's better that way because it will be easier in the end. But is it? Would you rather try and fill that hole temporarilly by having somebody close, give them the chance to surprise you and stay, or you are better off never knowing. Ignorance being bliss and all that bull.
Last year i was all for getting medicated, "down with the funk" and all that. I guess i kinda gave up or stopped caring. Most of the time i convince myself it isn't real. What can it do to screw up my life that it hasn't done already? It takes my writing ability when it wants, it progressively pushed away my best friend, it constantly hides to give me false security and doubt its existence, it makes me hyper one time and depressed the other making people doubt my sanity. So really what else is left in that bag of tricks? Nothing! Nada! Zilch!
I don't really have any lower to go. Being lonely is like having slightly ill fitting shoes, so by the time you get to the shoe shop you don't really give a crap about new shoes anymore. Hell, people will probably confuse that limp for a swag.

My cup over flows

In the blaze of th desert i hold my cup. A mirage in the distance, hints of shade and rest. I watch them pass, not a glance do they raise. For my fountain drips, not a gush to be seen. Just the regular drip.

I watch them sneer, at the dents in my cup, the cracks on my lips, and the lines on my face. But only for a fleeting moment. For they all opt for the trees shimmering in the distance.
Still i hold my cup, dents rust and all, on the outside. Still i stay beside my fountain and wait. The drip my constant companion. The missing bricks a reminder of the storm and hail.
I hold my vigil, waiting. For one shall come, and realize, my cup may be worn but it's ever full, of crystal clear refreshment. My face may be lined but my eyes are calm. For i am the keeper of the fountain.
I know of the faces that passed. I heard the moans in the wind, of hopelessness and despair when the mirage disappears leaving just swirling sand in its place.
They spoke of the one, voice like the sea, breath like the breeze. Who shall drink from the cup and once more the fountain shall flow. For i am the keeper of the fountain, and i know how deep it goes. Once more it shall overflow, and the sand will give growth and life shall flow.