I don’t know what happened.  Three days ago I was having my hair cut and excited about seeing my family in Tennessee on Christmas.  I was singing Goo Goo Dolls and sober and feeling, well, happy.   Then last night before driving back to Asheville the fucking goddamn insanity or darkness I don’t know the word anymore I guess “cycling down” will do- it began.  I didn’t talk during the family party.  I just grunted and barely ate and stared away.   They are all wondering “why the hell is not talking?”  I just sit on the couch, staring at the tv screen as my nephew plays video games.   So my dad died this day in 1980.  So what?  Get over it who gives a fuck?  You baby, you weak, pathetic person.

I can’t sleep.  My heart is racing.  I feel like giving up, like dying, if only to push out the voices and the things I see at night.  I call them “angels” but they won’t leave me alone.  They shoot energy through the air into my body, initially through my wounded and scarred left wrist.  I’m hesitant to write this but fuck, whatever.  I guess as long as I don’t hurt anyone they won’t lock me up.  I’m in no space today to be happy or write about hope and not giving up .  I dragged myself out of bed somehow, although I can’t sleep but I feel safe in the bed.

There is something happening to me that I can’t define.  It is beyond a textbook answer.  I went to a medical doctor and he had no clue.   I went to a Carmelite Priest and he had little to say.  I’ve been to Shamans and other types of healers.  One woman told me I perhaps was more blessed than I realize.  I hope she is right.  I don’t feel blessed today.  The lithium is doing nothing.  My doctor suggested Depakote and I’m sure that would knock me out to the point of being a zombie but a zombie may be a better choice.  The less I sleep the worse it gets – the fear and paranoia and darkness and shaking and God please, just make it stop.  I must have done something really horrible in the spirit world before returning this time.  Maybe I stole money from Apollo or took Zeus’s horse out without asking.  Whatever it was – fuck, how much is enough punishment?

CAN YOU HEAR ME GOD?    I’m not asking why anymore.   I’m still alive.  Please don’t leave me.

There’s that song playing.  And sometimes a song is enough to pull me back out into the land of the living and joyous.  Sometimes a Shakespeare line or a scene from a movie – even a good memory or a smell.

I’m waiting to come back.  It hurts too much to sit and wonder why.