What does it mean to have bipolar disorder?
I was diagnosed with Bipolar I in college. After a clear manic episode while going to Temple University, a psychiatrist working on the campus prescribed me a mood stabilizer, along with the depression and anti-anxiety medications I was already taking.
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I walked on a cold, misty night
Reflecting on my life thus far
I have given my life to Christ
Made wishes upon shooting stars
When released from behind bars
You could say I was born again
I’m better, but still have the scars
From a life devoted to sin
The hand and the shadow. As the sun sets, light fades through the window. The angular shadows beckon me closer. I reach out with my finger, looking to meet my Shadow Self on the wall. Seeking to integrate those parts of myself I deny and push down. What happens when I touch the Shadow Self?
Hand seeks the shadow
Shadow reaches to the hand
My two selves’ touch
Here’s a piece of dark fantasy flash fiction about the ultimate sacrifice. It’s about 650 words and has an estimated reading time of 2 and a half minutes. Let me know what you think!
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Washing in the river. Washing myself clean. Clean of the dirt and grime of a society gone mad. This is the way of my ancestors, to wash in the river away from the frenzies of the city. The water is cool, and my blood runs ice-cold when I step inside. I feel the purity of the saints.
River cleanses me
Of evil impurities
Baptismal waters
In the previous installment, Azibo attends Catholic mass and speaks to a priest afterwards. He’s amazed by the gentle priest, who has a nonchalant attitude about Portia and the religious war going on. As he’s leaving the church, the self-doubts creep in again about the suicide mission.
Let’s jump to Part 14, where Azibo meets up with Horace, his Collective contact, and something happens that irrevocably changes Azibo’s troubled life.
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Self-doubt devours us,
uncertainties and distrust
of primeval dogmas that
failed us wretchedly
charlatan gurus claim
to cure me of fragility,
but steal my virtue,
leave me trembling in
hollow ghettos
The man with many faces
A chameleon he is like
He adapts in many places
He’s always giving advice
His faces change so subtly
It seems only I have noticed
His countenance changes utterly
As a con man, he’s the greatest
My family and I recently spent a long weekend in Ocean City, NJ, soaking up the sun on the beach. In the Philadelphia and New Jersey area, we call this going “down the shore.”
Growing up, my family usually went down the shore every summer. I have some great memories of being at the beach, on the boardwalk at night, and discovering new music at the record stores in town.
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