Dec 30, 2007
It's like a title or something. A crown that sits crooked on one's head. For starters, it's no good trip, this illness. And then the second part of the journey, the meds, is even worse or at least as bad, what with all the side effects one must suffer. I wish it were a project I could grow bored with and stick in a closet. A dark, roomy closet with a perfect corner for such unfinished projects. I don't like taking meds, chemicalizing my body. I am staring out of the old, wavy glass of this long ago window in front of me. It marrs my vision just like manic-drepression. It skews reality and fuzzes grass & sky & the woodpile down by the creaky building. The hills here of southern Ohio are always beautiful , however, and it takes alot of enhanced vision, either by manic-depression or old window glass, to not be taken with them; these hills older than the window glass even with as many ups & downs as manic-depression. That's why I owe them so much. They save me. They are my sisters & brothers.