When I was discharged from the hospital, I went home and sat on my porch. And I just sat there. For hours.

The sun was so warm and comforting…I realized that the last time I had been outside, it had still been slightly cold out. Now, it felt like summer. The flowers had bloomed. The breeze was light and refreshing against my skin. I closed my eyes and drank in the sunlight; it tasted like the nectar of the gods.

I was alive.

Everything felt different, and terrible, and extraordinary. I slowly pulled on my headphones. Music reverberated into my ears, sending goosebumps across my skin and shivering down my spine. Music. It had been weeks since I heard music. Suddenly, everything was blurry. I blinked uncomfortably; tears were pricking my eyes.

Life has always been a little different for me. I’ve had bipolar disorder since I was a teenager, and I’ve learned that my emotions are always too big or too small. They underwhelm my loved ones sometimes, and other times they’re so overpowering that my loved ones have no space to breathe. I’m always questioning myself, my experiences, my thoughts. I edit in my head. Alongside with trying to manage my bipolar, I’m always trying to manage the fear of losing people because I’m too much.

I don’t blame people that leave because of it.

But I do try to be a better person, every day. I try to manage my symptoms. I’m hyper alert to the effects my words have on others, and constantly seeking approval for my actions.

It hasn’t been easy.

Through it all, I learned who I was on an intimate level. And the last year or so? I really loved her. I loved the person I blossomed into. I wasn’t perfect, but I truly tried to be kind, to be considerate. To maybe make someone’s day that day.

And now, I’m…

I don’t know who I am. The doctor told me I was on the brink of death.

Death has never scared me. I no longer want to die, I’m not suicidal like I was for years. I had a new purpose. I had a source of strength that I’d never had before.

But…waking up intubated, my arms tied down to the bed, unable to talk or scream, and completely alone…

That..broke me.

My fear is constant. I don’t feel safe anywhere, anymore.

Half my heart is still in that building, lying in the NICU. And that’s why I’m able to pull myself up, and walk through those doors. It’s why I put on my happy face, and I hold him and rock him, and I sing to him songs that I’d play for him when he was in my womb. I feel like my Heaven and I are stuck in Hell.

I just want my baby.