So how does my story end? Is it a happy ending? Or is the truth of reality leading us to a sad realness that can’t be defined? The truth is, I don’t know. It’s day one for me again. Almost like being born for a second time. I’m learning how to cope with my moods, know when a manic state is coming, and most importantly, listen to myself. 

All this wouldn’t have been possible if I didn’t seek help. But I was too proud. Too ashamed to ask for help. My background didn’t allow for that. This was a sign of weakness I thought. Managing depression and Bipolar disorder that I now know intimately, should be no problem right? Wrong! I failed because of my ego. I now know I will not succeed with hubris but rather with a humbleness. 

I thank you for your ear and your attention to these words. I leave you with this:

When a cry for help is unheard, who answers to the ones left behind?

Reaching out

Shameful hand

Perched on ego

Wilted man

Seeking comfort

Anyone will do

Struck with demons

Rampant blues

Should none answer calls

To heed my colic queues 

I sit alone, an ancient throne

Besieged upon my dues

Still reaching out

Empty hand

Waiting for a sign

Took to task 

The hourglass

Has left an unknown time