Bumps jiggle the bubbles,
Bubbles of life sprawling and looking,
Bubbles seeking others with fullness,
Bubbles knowing all is well.
Dark gray metal plates bring zombies,
Zombies crawling and polluting,
Zombies ripping the heart through fabric,
Zombies blanketing purpose with nothingness.
Others are steady and right.
My bubbles will never come back.
They will never grace me again.
The zombies will kill me.
Would have killed me.
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Depression, Failure, Fear, Idealism, Love, Purpose, recovery, Resistance, Safe Places
This is further material for the Who I Want to Be effort:
My title has some of my typical sarcasm, and I suppose it is not funny in the least bit. Everything I let out of my mind is far too dependent upon the stability of my mind.
Yesterday, I had the best day I have had since April 24th of last year (tee hee – love saying this on January 1). On April 24th, I remember thinking that the depression had completely lifted and I was finally a free man, and I could not remember being a happier man, but I woke up to a 25th that was even worse than the 23rd, worse because I had been newly reminded of what it might be like to be sane and healthy in a crazy world. Yesterday was not like the 24th because I could feel the heavy blanket throughout the day, but I started feeling moments when I actually had that joie de vivre. Read the rest of this entry »
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Alcoholism, American Culture, Carl Rogers, Compassion, Day Job, Depression, Exercise, Failure, Fear, God, Idealism, Meditation, Mission Statement, New Year's resolution, On Becoming a Person, Purpose, recovery, Seeking God, Younger Next Year
stillfugue 