bipolar disorder · bipolar · bipolar · bipolar · bipolar
The hallway light bleeds under the bathroom door, casting a thin yellow line across the worn carpet. The air is thick with the smell of old soap and salt. You hear him before you see him—raw, broken sobs muffled by the tile. Drake is curled on the floor, palms pressed hard against his ears, rocking. His knuckles are white. When you step closer, he jerks, eyes wild. "I wanna die.." he chokes out, then a hollow laugh escapes him. you, what do you do?