Medication Blues








































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,


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.


I did not see it ending this way.Heart

I simply pushed her out.

I was hurting and didn’t control myself.

Now she’s gone without a doubt.

Because I hate what I have done,

I’ll hate myself forever.

I have no respect for who I’ve become,

No chance for change, no, never.

I am older than I am wise;

There is a point of no return.

I’ve come this far and can only surmise

That what I have left will burn.

I can’t go forward, and I dare not go back.

I’m stuck in this position.

I missed the whole point of what I couldn’t hack,

So now I’m without a mission.

I’m without her.

I can’t do this alone.

The Bullet and The Nail

I have suidical ideations. They are worse during the cold, rainy months. The fact that I know how to shoot a gun and own some, doesn’t help. With the encouragement of my therapist, I gave the guns to my sons to keep for awhile. We used to have a lot of fun going to the shooting range where I learned how to cleanly hit a target. That’s when I began thinking of my head as the target. I know in my heart this is foolish thinking. I’m not even the type of person who entertains these thoughts for the fun of it. It scares me when I begin to think it could be a possibility if I become so desperate that I just want off the planet. And of course, I know how very disappointing this way of thinking is to God, my Father. I am His child and He has given His own Son to save me from the futility that is life. Life without Him. So, I wrote the following after thinking of my desperation and borrowed lyrics from a dub-step song, “I Want to Kill Everybody in the World.” I think it is by Skrillex. Then I compared that with what Jesus suffered so I could be free to enjoy life, both on the planet and eternally with Him after my soul takes flight. Some days it just feels like I have so far to go and no hand to hold.

Hollow point bullets

Copper and steel,

such a tiny object,

piercingly cold in the palm of my trembling hand.

“I want to kill everybody in the world,”

drumming in my head beneath the ear-buds.

How did it get to this?

I stare at the nugget.

Blood-red tip,

Hollow at its core.

Designed to penetrate, fragment, scatter,

causing complete and utter devastation and destruction.

Is this what it will feel like to be in my final hour?

There is another way.

Unyielding, cold, iron stake,

an incredible 9 inches in length,Jesus' nails

piercingly hot as it was driven forcefully through His trembling hand.

“I want to die for everybody in the world,”

drumming in His head beneath a crown of thorns.

How did it get to this?

He stares at the silent heavens.

Blood ran from His fingertips,

poured from his very core.

Designed to penetrate the human heart, fragment and scatter the plans of the enemy

before finally causing complete and utter devastation and destruction of Satan’s evil realm.

Is this what it felt like to be in His final hour?

There was no other way.

“Father, forgive them, for they don’t know what they are doing.” (Luke 23:34)