staring at my feet; will I dance or no?
The bipolar 2 colo(u)rs are virtual paints to scatter on a canvas primed with shades of grey. From light dove grey to the colo(u)r of a leaden sky; my continuous depression is the base coat of my virtual art studio. Sometimes my virtual paints are water colo(u)rs or oils, other times pastels or charcoal. The thickness of the layers of paint is part of my therapy; to help deal with the ramifications of mental illness.
Just as my feelings of guilt, my fear of rejection, my inability to move forward continuously press down on me, the urges are overwhelming; every pore, every cell, every atom is screaming at me to indulge in all my addictions. And, when I “paint” my mental illness, the colo(u)rs are layered; each represents an addiction; the return of dragons I thought I’d already dispatched.
Never completely banished, sugar still is the seductive siren that calls to me in gentle tones. I swear an oath to myself that I’ll only eat X or overindulge in Y today; tomorrow, I’ll get back on track of weight loss and elimination diets. Ah, but like the 2 year inertia, “Let’s forget about tomorrow, for tomorrow never comes!”
So far, the “demon rum” is on the shelf at the liquor store, not in my glass. (Actually, I don’t drink rum; prefer hard cider, good wines and beer). I’ve fought that demon before. But now it’s time again for me to put on my suit of armor, take up my shield and sword, and with a battle cry, begin the fight again.
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