My Monster (Bipolar-Depression)

Conflicting torment like a distant past,
it washes over as if it will last.
Gentics got me, yet so did the pain.
I wish I could say it drove me insane.
The hours I count only make it worse.
Depression has been my battle and curse.
Therapy has helped, I've matured and grown.
But what will happen, once I'm all alone?
I've tried to ignore and tried to forget,
tried to carry on and not be upset.
The thing about life is it's never fair.
Giving and taking, a constant repair.
I pick myself up right after I fall
but, my monster's smart, I can't make her crawl.
Through desperate times and empty spaces,
the only relief left bloody traces.
I had to get out as fast as I could.
Before my monster devoured what stood.
To take back my life, I reached for a pen
and began to write again and again.
A simple method had released my mind,
unshackled the chains that left me entwined.
My monster fought hard to reclaim my soul,
but the ink stain grew and I took control.
Now stuck in a cage, she ponders the day
I'll drop my dear pen and lose to her way.