Gathering on some
Far off horizon
In the evening
After humid days
Rain laden clouds
Plump with tears
Billow and spawn
Bringing angry downpours
Of unfettered emotion
Standing here alone
Wondering if this
Is a bellwether
Of something else
Turning myself skyward
Accepting my doom
Soaked and dismayed
Like prairie flowers
Shaking off all
Torrents and deluge
To bloom again
A bit weathered
Like barn wood
Sturdy and strong
Standing before you
Naked not unclothed
But only truthful
Does not take
Courage but trust
To see me
Like this just
As I am
Places my self
In your hands
Either drop me
Flailing like fish
Or hold me
Like your own
I’d rather you
See me thus
For whatever else
You imagine you
See I simply
Cannot undo any
Easier than placing
The fallen rain
Back into clouds
First they
hang
upon limbs
of flesh
outstretched
like grape
vines.
Next they
gather like
on-coming
storms; circling
trapped
in the
corner.
Today
they hang
like pelts
in my closet,
or lie like
psychedlic
igloos on our bed.
Dearest Readers,
My blog struck a milestone yesterday evening.
With Rodrigo at my side I checked the number of hits my blog has received since I started writing it back in 2008.
And there it was: 50,000+.
I turned to Rodrigo and smiled broadly.
“It’s at 50,000 isn’t it?” he asked.
“Yes, Rodrigo, it is, thanks to you?”
“Me,” he asked.
“You’ve inspired me like the others. Without inspiration I couldn’t write.
“And without readers I’d never be read. And that’s a writers lifeblood: readers reading.”
Thanks to each and everyone that collaborated to make this milestone a reality.
On to the next milestone, 75,000!
We’re all as delicate as a porcelain tea cup.
About six weeks ago I called 9-1-1 and told the operator that I was manic and was experiencing SI/HI (suicidal ideation and homicidal ideation). They sent a handful of policemen that then escorted me from my hotel and into a police cruiser.
Before I knew it, the police cruiser was heading north to a town called Davidson. It was there in Davidson that I was interred in a psychiatric hospital for fifteen days.
The reason I was manic with SI/HI was because I have Bipolar II disorder. But more importantly, I was unmedicated: I turned my back on Depakote and Abilify and Gabapentin. Instead I flew to Paris where I met Jean-Baptiste. He also knew I was manic.
It was in Paris that I started to self-medicate with beer, whisky, and men’s affections. When I left Paris I brought my self-medication across the Atlantic and into Charlotte.
I have a high tolerance for liquor so I was able to consume a relatively large quantity of whisky. Not on a daily basis mind you, but when I was lacking the affections of men. I’m not an alcoholic, but I am abusive; I am an abuser of alcohol; I drink to excess.
But upon discharge I had my medications straight; I’d dried out (and stayed sober); I’d understood that patience is a conscious pursuit.
Fifteen days in a psychiatric hospital might seem to some as a mark of weakness. But I can assure you it is not. It is a sign of strength; of humility; of character; and fortitude.
I am now a medicated and sober man that has Bipolar II disorder. I am stronger and wiser and calmer. I have been blessed with patience. I have found great friends in both Robyn and Mike.
I think that our weakness is often the gateway to our strength.
HARLAN DIDRICKSON 