Part of me says “don’t write so much about bipolar because it’s a turn-off” and part of me says “it is you, write about it.”
Therein lies the problem. I always feel like I am being tugged in many directions and it is difficult to set the course. My moral compass has not always pointed in a set direction, I will admit that. But God only knows I have attempted to “do it right” and all things considered I think it has worked out fairly well.
If you are reading this I will say “thank you” now and also you can rest assured that I am writing this “off the seat of my pants.” That, to me, is what my WEBL is…an acronym for “Wayne’s Everyday Battle List” during which I may list some of my victories for the day.
Of course you may remember a recent entry during which I “rebelled” against the dull and uneventful word “BLOG”(a truncated form of the word “WEBLOG”) and I replaced it with “WEBL” which is also a truncated form of the word “WEBLOG”.
So that is it. If you have a desire to delve into the convoluted spaces of a bipolar mind, this is the place. I plan to do a virtual lobotomy and while I am in there I will also deal with issues of the heart because these two are so closely connected. I know this is a danger zone, a hard hat construction area and yet I am going to walk boldly in and see if I can finally discover who this man is who lives in my body.
I also plan to add a touch of poetry each day and poetry is one place I can go to feel settled and safe. Poems are like seeds that grow…dandelions that scatter in the wind. I invite you in to take this wild ride and with your comments and help I know we can get there, wherever there is.
I want to give a special thanks to DiAne Ebejer who said, “As I have learned here on WP, a blog is anything you want it to be..”
And so it is, this WEBL formerly known as BLOG will be anything we want it to be…and by we I mean the divided heart within me.
i wanted to know you better—
a black and white photograph told the story
of how you went away without smiling
or saying goodbye.
i looked for flowers
sprayed around the plain metal box—
black and white roses all look the same
and photographs expose no fragrance.
somehow i remember your face,
eyes closed so i’ll never know the color,
hands folded one over the other
as if covering a hidden secret in your belly.
i looked into your padded bed
and when i saw an angel sleeping
i knew you had to go away
and i would never know your touch.
i wonder what you would say
if given just one minute
to reveal the passion in your heart
and if you would hold me as i have dreamed.