Sunday, January 27, 2013

Cargo Boats, Skeletons, and Coffee Shops

"Can you understand me a little, love me a little?  For all my despair, for all my ideals, for all that-I love life.  But its is hard, and I have so much-so very much to learn." ~Sylvia Plath

"I have let things slip, a thirty-year-old cargo boat stubbornly hanging on to my name and address."  Its going on 2a.m. and sleep is eluding me.  I worked well today.  Turned in a chapter.  That's an accomplishment.  I should feel elated.  But I don't.  I'm just tired.  Tomorrow I will concoct my essay for a bipolar fellowship.  In it I will sound strong.  Self assured.  Unafraid.  I will sit down in a coffee shop and pull out my laptop.  I will pretend that I am completely normal.  That I'm not scared of the future.  Not worried about my shortcomings.  Not a thirty-year-old cargo boat stubbornly hanging onto my name and address.  Thirty is not that old you say?  Well, never underestimate the power of going nearly a decade as an undiagnosed bipolar patient.  Not to mention all those other skeletons I keep hidden in my closet.  There's no room for my coats. I am exhausted.  Sometimes, like tonight, I'm sick of fighting.  Tired of all those pill bottles.  So tired of never feeling save.  Sick of my molten face.  Like Plath, I love too much or not at all.  She ended up with her head in an oven, and I wonder what the rest of my days will look like.  Can you understand me a little, love me a little?  For all my despair, for all my ideals, for all that-I love life.  But it is hard, and I have so much-so very much to learn.

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