Touch the Leaves

My friend, Exponential, urges me to write, so here we are again.

Fortunately, I am in a mood to write, and if I was not, I would write anyway. You see, gentle reader, today is not a bark day, not a day to stand on the roots and feel the pulse of the tree. Today is a drinking day, which is a super bad idea for someone like me. How? Why? I no longer know. Suffice it to say, someone brought a wine cooler to a pool party I hosted, and 5 days later, here I am.

I have done my meditations, what little they are, and my earnest prayer to be released today. I accept that HP has a better way to live than I do.

Today is for a place in the forest with an oak. Today is a place for green leaves and moss, not the day I would like, filled to the brim with vodka. My medications have had no chance to work lately, and thusly, I am blue. I am filled with hatred of myself, and overwhelming fears. It's going to take some time to stabilize myself again, and, like a planet seeks to right itself by throwing off stellar rings, I write this morning, as a way to normalize my day.

It fills me with horror that anyone else feels this way, but Exponential assures me they do. Exponential thinks of my readers today, the ones with my diagnoses, and tells me I need to write for the ones who can't name their disorders as 'anonymously' as I can. 

So let's face this dawn together, you and I. And count the minutes until we can call our sponsors.  So touch the rough bark with me, and feel the cool of the leaves. Hear the breeze blow from the water as it splashes down it's path.