Below the Rafters

I think I am beginning to understand what bipolar depression is all about. On the good days I feel very very good. On the bad days, I feel very very bad. Most of the time I am somewhere in between and were it not for the medication keeping me in that place, I am afraid that death will someday win. I want to be healthy and live a productive life. Sometimes that seems within my grasp and other times I am overwhelmed by my own desperation as it slips from my grasp. I have suicidal ideations, but so far I can’t call my spirit from my body. It will not yield because it is not mine to yield. When I am in this pit, only God can pull me out.

 

Body swaying below the rafters,

Rafters

now spent.

I peer from above

upon a woman I once knew well.

At least, I thought I did.

I hated her.

 

Weakness and fear,

the constant companions

of her mind and soul.

She knew not the invisible God

Who could save her.

Not really.

 

She had idols of her own making.

Functional gods.

Wanting them to save her from her own self-destruction.

They could not.

 

Before I fly away,

I will peer once more

at the body swaying below the rafters,

now spent.

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