BiPolar.

With my heart in the Antarctic, and my mind somewhere in the Philippines, it can become quite exhausting trying to grasp the intricacies of my extremes.  Blazing like a wild fiery inferno in one instant, then frigid, icy cold the next, my moods catapult conspiring to make me appear my worst and then immediately my best.  Though I resolve to reveal only the side of me that never frightens others scaring them away, when I am left untreated, it can go either way.  Depending on the day, I am unintentionally one's foe or their friend, irritability then rears its ugly face resulting in world's end.  I shout, swear, scream and then the storm is over as suddenly as it began, I hurry to collect the scattered pieces of a misunderstood man.  Although I hate playing the victim, I cannot be forced to take the blame, as though pointing the finger at me could somehow change the game.  Stretched to my limit in opposite directions many times throughout the day, this internal war pierces my skin with its shrapnel in the worst way.  On the surface, all is calm yet just below is another outbreak, as I summon all my strength to prevent any mistakes.  Comedy and tragedy in their duality are personified by me, though I would prefer to remain an anomaly, or mystery.  Torn between two arguments even though both contain logic and reason, I am not winter or fall, but rather the highs and lows of every season.