under available light that’s been
ladled onto your room like a slip on a cream-ware pot,
transparent across the floor and bed,
sometime after midnight

a once-foggy man
drops to his knees and confesses:
i am weary of the split i’ve fostered.
mend this. help me mend this. let’s mend this.

and so, he again
unveils
himself to you
a moment too soon.

he never has any unexpressed
thoughts. they are always the same.
he is never updated. he is
a discount store vase — thrown by rote, painted off-hand.

you push, once,
and he falls. the shatter
is almost a relief. you half expected
a soft plop.

when you lean to pick up the pieces,
you find him almost admirable now:
sharper edges. more interesting textures.
that yellow he was before

becomes easier to appreciate
when you can see it against
the red of the
original clay.

put him in a box.
close it tight against the sickly moon.
something inside is dead, or is not.
anything could happen now.

— SPEAK tonight: theme is “water.” penny_player is hosting in my absence.

— I will be absent because of my orientation for re-entry into school tonight.

— I will also most likely be absent from much of iWPS. While classes are supposed to be one weekend a month, they have scheduled two back to back weekends, each class running from 5-10 on Friday, 8-5 on Saturday, and 8-5 on Sunday. I am working on an alternative, but not holding out much hope.

— In general, I’m not holding out much hope. I had a horrendous day yesterday, almost no sleep last night, and I spoke on an emergency basis to my therapist; I fear they’re going to raise my meds again, or perhaps an in-patient visit is in order.

— It’s this scenario I’ve always dreaded: that I would slide further the older I get. For most people, this ends or levels off by the mid-40s. There’s a small minority who don’t get better; they almost invariably get worse.

— I head back to school, keep writing, keep making the attempt because there is nothing else to do, or rather the things there are to do are unacceptable.

But a day may come when that’s not enough reason to keep at it. When the options are ECT, or more hospital time, or more drugs, or stronger drugs, or…

I don’t know how to let go of myself as I’ve built me. I don’t know anymore how to retool for new realities. I am trying.

I am telling you this because I want it somewhere where people can see.

Please don’t offer any platitudes, any offers of help or sympathy or advice or wisdom. I don’t need more. I need me, now.

I need to figure out where I am in all this.