The night is very dark and long.
I don't expect to hear the birds at song
Come near to wake the newborn day
or trouble where I lay.
Listen. There are no whisperings.
No secrets murmured in the still of night.
No light of moon or stars
nor breath to guide me in my flight.
Beyond reality I tumble through unaltered space,
With not a mooring found to fix my soul.
No shadows give a hint of where the light may be.
No promises, no prayers, no hope, no goal.
Between here and forever I am all alone.
I stumble and I fall. Who casts the stone?
I plead no mercy now, my soul is Your's to take
If I should die before I wake.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Birds of a Feather
Had a note from my 'son' today. I think his feelings are hurt because I left him out when I told about my bipolar family. Although we adopted him at marriage (and couldn't bear to part with him at divorce), and although people have said they can sure see the resemblance between us (sorry, man!) we are not biologically connected.
Well, that is not entirely true. We are connected through his children/my grandchildren, but I don't think inheritance works that way. Anyway. Here's to you, Son. Yes, I have personally and expertly diagnosed you with Bipolar Disorder. Not Adult ADHD, not high energy, quick talking, intense....Sorry for excluding you. Did you realize I also excluded my sisters, my cousins, my 'normal' daughter? I know you think I see a bipolar behind every bush. But it takes one to know one... And birds of a feather...and if the shoe fits...and a bird in the hand is worth more than a bird in a burning bush...and is a burning bush ever just a burning bush?
Anyone else want to join my club?
Well, that is not entirely true. We are connected through his children/my grandchildren, but I don't think inheritance works that way. Anyway. Here's to you, Son. Yes, I have personally and expertly diagnosed you with Bipolar Disorder. Not Adult ADHD, not high energy, quick talking, intense....Sorry for excluding you. Did you realize I also excluded my sisters, my cousins, my 'normal' daughter? I know you think I see a bipolar behind every bush. But it takes one to know one... And birds of a feather...and if the shoe fits...and a bird in the hand is worth more than a bird in a burning bush...and is a burning bush ever just a burning bush?
Anyone else want to join my club?
Monday, February 1, 2010
My Family Talks Back
Can you say whatever you want on here? My family is not impressed. My husband says 'faithful and loyal' makes him sound like a dog. My ancestors, offspring and relatives are not bipolar. They are just 'really, really happy and energetic' and 'really really sad and lethargic'. There has never been anything wrong with anyone in our family, and there still isn't. In fact, I can't be bipolar. At least, not if has any genetic component. Only those other people from the colonies who married siblings had 'unusual' conditions. And then, of course, nothing so immoral as a 'mental illness'.
Of course. Forgive me. My husband is debonair and dashing and a real stud. He's rich and wise..... And the fam? What fam? If I choose to let myself be labelled, nobody knows me.
So. Here I am. This orphan, with a story to tell. Can you believe me? I dunno. My own mother won't!
Of course. Forgive me. My husband is debonair and dashing and a real stud. He's rich and wise..... And the fam? What fam? If I choose to let myself be labelled, nobody knows me.
So. Here I am. This orphan, with a story to tell. Can you believe me? I dunno. My own mother won't!
Before I Begin
So today, the first of February, 2010, I begin an interfacing journey of self revelation and exploration. I have never blogged before, but in the olden days (with only a Commodore 64) I wrote back and forth with Nursing professors (not theologians) for four years. My theme at that time was, "For me to live is Christ." The second part of that verse, the "to die is gain" part, I had figured out in early childhood; and after many attempts at "gaining", decided to try to live.
Let me explain. The grand-daughter of a bipolar woman, the daughter of a bipolar mother, I became the mother of two bipolar children. Somewhere along the way someone realized my tornado speed, my auctioneer speech, and my....ah...."blue" days, were merely symptoms of an illness. I wasn't, in fact, super wife, super mom, super writer, super christian; I was defective.
As an overachiever who collected ribbons and medals and certificates and A-pluses, that was just not tolerable. Wasn't I playing piano by age 4? Wasn't I on TV reciting poetry by age 5? Wasn't I the top of the class, the fastest runner, the best singer, the model child? Didn't I know that I was, in fact, superior to all of my peers, and most of my elders? (yeah....you loved to hate me!)
But when at age 35 I ran away from home, leaving my exciting nursing job and my beloved children and my faithful, dependable, husband, I was ready to imagine there was some "not my fault" explanation. Even a diagnosis was better than the 'burning at the stake' I deserved.
These days I'm not so super. A little wiser. A little humbler. A little fatter. But still full of things to say. I hope you will check in with me from time to time. Maybe we will be friends.
Let me explain. The grand-daughter of a bipolar woman, the daughter of a bipolar mother, I became the mother of two bipolar children. Somewhere along the way someone realized my tornado speed, my auctioneer speech, and my....ah...."blue" days, were merely symptoms of an illness. I wasn't, in fact, super wife, super mom, super writer, super christian; I was defective.
As an overachiever who collected ribbons and medals and certificates and A-pluses, that was just not tolerable. Wasn't I playing piano by age 4? Wasn't I on TV reciting poetry by age 5? Wasn't I the top of the class, the fastest runner, the best singer, the model child? Didn't I know that I was, in fact, superior to all of my peers, and most of my elders? (yeah....you loved to hate me!)
But when at age 35 I ran away from home, leaving my exciting nursing job and my beloved children and my faithful, dependable, husband, I was ready to imagine there was some "not my fault" explanation. Even a diagnosis was better than the 'burning at the stake' I deserved.
These days I'm not so super. A little wiser. A little humbler. A little fatter. But still full of things to say. I hope you will check in with me from time to time. Maybe we will be friends.
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