top of page
Post: Blog2_Post
  • Writer's pictureLydia Lampert

The Incarcarated Bipolar Poet

I figured I would share some of the poetry I wrote while I was hospitalized. It certainly captures the velocity at which my moods were changing. I hope you like them, especially considering they were written with a smuggled pen after lights out and a sweatshirt skirting my bed lamp so they would think I was sleeping soundly. Don’t quite know what I could have done with a pen, but the patients were not allowed to have them. In time you will find out just how seriously they take that rule when I write about the strip search and tossing of my room I had to endure (COMING SOON!).

Running Girl (1-18-15, after 5 days in the hospital)

She runs because she is scared,

Impending depression is upon her heels.

Despite the increase in her pace,

And yet, she feels its blackness begin to engulf her,

Starting at her ankles and climbing higher,

Like a fog that forms overnight and completely covers your yard by morning.

She continues to pick up her pace,

Running desperately for her life,

She cannot stop, for the depression will trample her,

And ultimately, destroy her hopes of winning this time.

The perpetual race always seems to yield the same results,

Although her pace is unyielding, her endurance infinite,

But still, as she is rounding the corner of the homestretch,

She can no longer see the finish line,

As it has been swallowed by the fog,

And the running girl drops to her knees,

Exhausted, depleted and defeated once more.

The Alluring Mr. Mania (2-13-15, after 1 month in the hospital)

He stares seductively at her from across a dimly lit 5X9 dance floor,

Spanish music coerced the cigar smoke which was looming in the air,

To dance to its rhythm, hypnotizing her until she realizes,

He is sauntering toward her at that very moment.

His deep penetrating eyes intrigue and captivate her as she feels him

Looking her up and down, assessing what he is about to possess.

With mussed up dark hair, and full red lips,

Still wet and glistening from the last sip of his dirty martini,

He takes her willing hand and commands her in the Tango.

Her heels barely touched the floor, as she was already floating high,

On lust and would have let him take her wherever he wanted to go.

He was exciting,

He was sexy,

And most of all, the magnetism she felt toward him was incredible.

She had no desire to fight this crazy feeling that has overtaken her.

Was it lust or love at first sight?

She was only sure that she wanted this feeling, this intensity and euphoria to last forever.

As the Tango comes to an end, he dips her so deeply, so dangerously,

Creating an addiction to this incredible high,

Inside as she begged, “Please sir, don’t ever let me go. I haven’t felt this happy in ages,”

He takes her away with the power of his long dark kiss.

She has no idea what kind of dangerous situation she was getting herself into,

She only cared that she was completely in love with the rush of it all.

Oh, Mr. Mania, wait, just wait until your wife Depression finds out,

For as we all know, hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

My Arch Nemesis is My Mind (2-14-15, crazily only 1 day later)

Racing thoughts fill my sleepless nights,

Brain, why won’t you shut the fuck up?

I wish I could MUTE your ideas.

I wish for just once I could have a night uninterrupted.

But no, and instead of having the luxury of making a cup of coffee and having a cigarette,

I am condemned to stare at these bland walls with no character.

I stare at the lights above although they are shut,

And yet, amidst the condemnation cast upon me by myself,

I feel the lights glaring at me with disgust.

I can’t take it anymore!

I can’t stand the endless banter in my head,

I can barely contain the epervescent anxiety bubbling up in me like a shaken bottle of champagne,

And my feet and knees are shaking again.

Yet the nurse asks me to pinpoint a reason for my anxiety this evening.

How can I when the reasons come and leave like heat lightning in the summertime?

And my moods change faster that the minute hand on a clock.

Where is my Kryptonite for this mind I’ve been cursed with?



If ever,

Will I be able to predict anything again?

What can silence the beast mind I’m being tortured by, aside from eternal sleep?

3 views0 comments


bottom of page