It has always been this delicate passion of ours
That encircles us in the summer night but
Does it matter which night it captures our breaths?
What night it whisks us off to sanctuary?
This is my story, no catchy gimmicks, no catchy trade marks, but me as a flawed human being. I’ve done some bad things and hurt a lot of people, but haven’t we all? But did you ever do it willingly? Did you do it because it was wrong? Did you do compellingly like some other worldly force was forcing you to do these terrible acts? Even if it meant ruining your relationships, your status or just you in general. This is mental illness, this is my story of Bipolar Disorder, once called Manic Depression but that was a long time ago, but it is now seen as a motive to kill people and incite mass murder, but in fact, it’s selfish and hurts on a personal scale more than any other mental illness.