I sat in the corner of the room, my hand on my chest. My breath was deep and ragged; my blood was pounding in my ears. Blood was dripping into my mouth, my nose broken. My brain was telling me to get up, to fight, and to not back down. I couldn’t defy it. But I had to. I knew that if I didn’t, things would get worse.

I vigorously ran my fingers through my hair, my anger rising more and more. I didn’t know what was wrong with me. But I was starting to get scared.

‘No, don’t be scared, being scared is cowardly.’ The voice inside my head shouted back at full force. I couldn’t hear anything else except for it.

Cowardly

The word ran through my head, over and over again, until it was the sound of a roar. A roaring like there was a river, or rivers, inside my head. I couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t take it. I had to move. I had to move before I did anything else wrong. I got up, but couldn’t help but fall back to the floor.

I started to cry.

I didn’t want to cry.

But seeing him, my little brother, lying on the floor, staring up at me. After I had punched him. After a stupid argument. I got so mad. I didn’t know why I did it.

But I did.

I wish that I wasn’t bipolar. I wish that I didn’t do this to my brother. I wish things could go back to normal. But I know it can’t go back to normal. I can only dream that things are so perfect.

I crawled over to him, my brother Bailey, and held onto him.

Sobbing.

The only thing I could say popped into my mind and I whispered it to him.

“I’m Sorry.”