I look up, and the TV reads, “Bipolar depression is different.” What is a pattern? I don’t know if I need one or not. A red light turns on somewhere in this room, and I am aware that my legs are crossed, that only one foot is on the ground. Carpeted floor. I have a dream two days ago that I am tricked and my feet are cut off. I am in a foreign world wondering how I will walk, how I will RUN. “Should I get a fake foot, prosthetics?” I’m saying out loud (but to who? myself?).
Today I am driving, Jason in the passenger seat quiet….or maybe somewhere else familiar….and I am thinking about what I want. Often I question to myself, if I could do anything in this moment, what would I do? Because then I know where my gutty, ugly heart is and who I am and where I wanna be. But today I do not know. Maybe this is okay, but, still, I want to know.
I say I am feeling lonely. Simple tantrums. Not whole-hearted, I sit cross-legged in the corner of an empty bedroom at the house. And then other anger, someone else’s anger//frustration//tough time, is more important. A bigger weight, a longer shadow. Tower tower. Last week I said I felt very small. Today I do not know what I want.
Where am I going? How will I RUN?
Based out of Providence, Rhode Island, Alice has had work featured in The Voices Project and now AWAY Journal. She sends you lots and lots of love and light.