The Dark

It is not the dark allowed by a slow sunset that scares me. It is the dark allowed by ominous clouds that allows no sunlight, no moonlight, and no stars that scares me to my core.

It overshadows me like the blackest ink….. a thick, sticky, seeping darkness that covers my world. It is that darkness, that black ink, that highlights the scarlet in my life. The darkness covers all the colors of the rainbow – except for scarlet. It is as if the scarlet was placed in wax – never penetrated, only magnified.

This darkness brings whirlwinds of words that have been spoken, deeds that have been done, pain, and sorrow. The winds whisper, they beat me, they chafe me. I can not shield myself from them, only succumb to the coarseness as they rip through my world. The darkness only allows for glimpses of scarlet, as I am thrown off balance by the winds.

Will I survive. Should I survive. Do I deserve to survive. They are not questions, they are statements. Statements written in scarlet, written by own hands and hands of others.

Who decides survival? Who decides who is worthy of survival? What is survival if it does not ever lead to life? What is life if it is lived in black and scarlet? Theses are my questions as wind burn stings my skin and pierces my heart.

Yet, I am to walk as though there is illumination. Smile and say that my wind burned skin is actually sun kissed, and my shattered heart is beautiful stained glass. It is expected that I stand tall and proud as the darkness blankets the winds that pick up stones and sling them at my tattered self. It is expected that I proclaim judgement on myself for the sake of others peace. There is no room for regret, remorse, or hurt. Those feelings allow light to penetrate through the darkness, and those who write in scarlet pour the ink as well……

It is this darkness that shrouds my life. It lives and breathes with the names depression and anxiety. It identifies as functioning bipolar.

Over the Bridge

It’s been one week since my feet were buried in the beautiful sands of Sullivan’s Island. . .

One week of work. One week of family. One week of normal. It seems like it has been months. I adore the beach. Well, water in general, as anyone who has read my posts know. Mesmerizing is the only word I can think of to describe water in my life. Water soothes my soul……

There were many places and things that caught my attention last weekend. The sand, the food, the people, the water……but my favorite was the bridge.

I was drawn to the lines, the sheer massiveness, the beauty of this bridge. Every time we crossed it I reached my hands out of the window…..I don’t know why. Touching it at any rate of speed would be dangerous. I just reached for it. Like a kid trying to touch the clouds.

I told my hubby that I had to get pictures of it. So, one morning, I put the phone faced up on the dashboard and hit the button until we had passed over it.

Doesn’t it remind you of a harp? It is so beautiful.

I attributed my fascination with it to my obsessive personality – and always looking for aesthetically pleasing objects – and carried on through my week. I didn’t tell anyone about my love of the bridge or even show them the pictures. I don’t know why.

This morning I was reminded of my bridge. Maybe I was fascinated by it because that’s where I am in my life right now….crossing my own “life bridge”. It’s a massive bridge, connecting my past to what will soon be my future. Who knows what lies on the other side? I don’t. However, I know that both sides are important, and my travel across the bridge won’t last forever.

It’s been a hard bridge to cross though.

Hopefully, I will begin to see the beauty of my “life bridge”. Knowing that it is: stable, though suspended; short, though seemingly long; and strong, though the supports seem like thin strings……..