My mental ups and downs lately, the heights and depths and frequency, have me on enough alarm that I am in the waiting room at Hospital again. I told myself two years ago that I would never be back. I also told myself that I didn't need the medication. So I tossed the pills into the ocean or left them at an airport or something. But right now I do. I need something to even out the wires in my head. So I'm in the waiting room. I'm a bit paranoid. Afraid of being "taken." I'm even enough today. I present well enough in general. I need something to help me sleep. I rarely sleep. Lately, I have been sleeping even less than rarely.
The volunteer just told me that they were going to be calling me soon. It's 4:32pm. Lets see how soon soon actually is, though I'm in no hurry. I am thankful for iPads and free wifi. And volunteers who come out to give advance notices.
4:36pm. Calling me now.
Black ass poems. Black ass stories. Black ass art. Black ass life. Black ass love. Black ass hate. Black ass parenting. Black ass depression. Black ass mania. And other stuff too.
4 minutes can last a lifetime.
ReplyDeletei think you should write a book.
a novel, specifically.
a novel written in 1st person.
i feel like i've read your 'you' before,
in the lives of black characters,
written by black authors,
who tell black stories.
you are a living one (story that is).
write it. so i can buy it. and read it.
this is an indirect order,
as i am, both, bossy and insecure.
i love this order. indirect or not. i hide behind poetry because it is where i am most not so insecure. (although my running man/rodger rabbit skills are boss, son). i have started and stopped a novel a kagillion times. its what i most want to produce. a novel about this journey of mental health. like we are arent on one. for now i work it out here in this space.
ReplyDelete