Here Be Dragons...

And other goodies...


First poems are like first kisses: always remembered, a bit clumsy, and better in memory than in reality. But the one defining characteristic of a first poem is its intensity, for the muse that moves us to write does, at the same time, claim our heart and hold it forever in poetic rapture. We bipolars are no strangers to poetic license. Now if you will, listen once again to the heart's tempestuous song.

Let's begin then shall we?

Read, feel, learn what it is to live with a bipolar dragon  . . . .

The "Self"

World Unrelenting

-- Fractal -- 1968

I was 16 when I wrote the above. On the back of the faded original, is this note to a neighbor written by my mother. Mom found my writings exceedingly disturbing, and so gave them to a neighbor for a second opinion. It reads, "Keep this please. This ones mild the others are more upsetting." Sadly, those others were never returned to me.

Shortly after this, my erratic behavior and suicide attempts prompted them to put me in therapy. After extensive testing, I was diagnosed as bipolar; unfortunately, it wouldn't be until I was 42 years old and Mom was dying that I'd learn the truth. So many years of wondering why I was as I was--so much pain and sorrow. Family notions about mental illness damn us who suffer them to life-long prisons. DON'T DO THIS to someone you love.


back_button next_button
home_button index_button contents_button