When It All Stands Still…

There are days when everything stands still, when the sleet in Chicago stops between skyscrapers and the neon lights don’t pulsate in rhythm to the jazz or blues; when the good intentions of recovery lounge in the revolving door of another red brick club; when the belief that tomorrow will be better is as still born as the smile everyone expects.

And it isn’t the stillness that bothers me as much as the echos I can’t escape or the unpredictability of precipitation…condensation rife with the ashes of what could have been.  A frozen moment spanning 24 hours in a city I used to call home, just mere miles from the hospital where my son was born and the woman I once loved still loved me.

Here, in the windy city that isn’t currently swaying on the anniversary of his birth, I feel the distance between then and now as each breath propels me further away and I try to convince myself that between now and then he’ll find me again but know that statistically speaking the needle is no longer in the haystack.

I’m Sorry You Love Me

Being by bipolar is…well, a bitch quite honestly.  On the other hand living with, loving or even being close friends with a bipolar…well, I gotta believe that’s a fuckin’ bitch of a burden.  I only know what it is to be bipolar and I’ve watched (often helplessly) as my illness has unfortunately impacted others.

I mean, it can’t be easy…the mood swings, the cycles, the mini-cycles, the need for sleep, the need for solitude, the meds, the shrinks and never really knowing what to expect not to mention the worry and concern and pain caused by not being able to help stop the pain.  To be honest, even if I wasn’t bipolar, I’m not sure I could do it.