The unicorn meat eating cats are jockeying for position on my bed...I can tell that it snowed last night. They will sleep in a bit, when I stop moving them.
I have come out of my head spin. I loathe them, and can't escape. If life was like that everyday, I wouldn't survive...to go crazy and know it. To feel the edge of reason slip away, and know I now have no control over what and how I think...to see the storm coming, with no forest in sight.
I do have friends, who can accept insanity. They can watch me run for the edge of the forest. We discuss my gait and the wattage of the moonlight as it shines on the path. It is a difficult thing to do; it must be. I have lost friends over my madness. I imagine that they think that I can wrestle my thoughts from the whirlwind, or take a pill, or worse: to be shut up until it is over.
When I drink, the storms come in and out regularly, like tides. I was in one maelstrom for several years. It's like a handful of dried leaves to say that; the colors are lost, but the memory is golden, and burnt orange and red. Years. Years. Just like that.
I can read description after description of the effect of psychotropic medication, and they all say the same thing. It makes me want to laugh, "It is not known how (name of your favorite pharmaceutical) works." Suffice it to say that they work to some degree, as my therapist reminded me several days ago, but will not eliminate all the symptoms. I cannot, with all my art, tell you what, in his own voice kept me from letting the storm surge drag me down. The pull and delight of the wind is very strong, sometimes. I have to accept that. There is a point where I wish it weren't true. But, right now, sitting calm and rational in front of the computer, I can accept it, as evidence of the mystery.
What, you might be asking, are the aftereffects? Some that I love, hold me closer and dearer. I cling to them with all I have. Some who love me, move quietly away. I hope that I haven't lost the friend I obsessed over. But I truly don't know. I suppose that I will glean some clues from our future conversations. I don't really like to ask her how my insanity struck her.
Today, I will pour the anti-Evil pills, and think about not taking them before I swallow them. The gleaming teeth of the broken trees shine in the dark. There are small rustlings near the lady-slippers, and an imprint on the pine needles under the fern.
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