The Not So Beautiful Me

I am not beautiful, at least not in the traditional sense. My life has been a series of downfall and ruin, yet here I stand. My armor is not beautiful. Stained with blood and rust, it has gotten me through the worst of battles, both mentally and physically. No one can say they truly know the real me if I don't even know myself, but let's start by piecing together my memories. At the young age of 3 years old, I was diagnosed with Early onset Bipolar disorder. A draining illness that has determined my life. At the age of 6 years old, I was diagnosed with Schizoaffective disorder, which is basically Schizophrenia with added mood instability. There is so much darkness within me. There is also such creativity that shines to light my way. Bipolar is in itself just a mental imbalance of chemicals, but with me, it manifests into art, poetry, laughter, pain, fear, anger, and so much more. I am not my illness but my illness is me. I am afraid of heights just as much as I am afraid of myself and I'm terrified of heights. This is my reality. Fear and chaos consume my life. Fear of the world, of society. Fear of my emotions and how I handle them. Fear of myself and my mind. My Schizophrenia is like a train derailing. I am surrounded by distorted images and sounds that don't quite make sense, yet consume my sanity, disabling my reality. I am not okay most days. I am messy, I am lazy, I am relentlessly surviving. I do not know who I am sometimes. I forget so easily, my innermost thoughts and memories, then remember them again after I may have needed them. I am not beautiful, but I see beauty. There is beauty in the trees when they shed their leaves. There is beauty in the moon, which changes phases as the days pass by. There is beauty when the flowers start to fade, after blooming in such radiance. So if such things have beauty, while in the midst of change, why do I think I am not beautiful? Why do my changing phases not illuminate beauty? Why don't I blossom into a sunflower or daisy? It's because I am not a flower, but a thorn. I might hurt you. I might make you bleed, without realizing, while simply existing. It's because I do not see beauty in myself. How can I when I'm plagued with emotional instability? When every day is a battle to survive? When I'm fighting with demons no one can see? Yet, still, my reflection is me. A reflection of a smile when I see your eyes, a reflection of a tear when you're not by my side. You, you are the beauty in me. I'm raw and damaged, yet you pull out my heart. I was broken with a bandaid holding me together until you saw my pieces on the ground and put them back together, when I couldn't even move. I may be a thorn, but you are my flower, you give my thorns purpose. You are my partner and my husband. You are my love. I am beautiful, in your eyes, and that's all that matters to me. For you are my happiness. You bring out the real me, a vulnerable me, a happy me. I am still stained with bloody armor. I am still afraid of many things. I'm still raw and full of emotions. All of these things are still true, but with you, I don't have to hold it all back. With you, I am me. With you, I am free.