s. b. lacroix
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There are no happy mediums, not for me. It’s feast or famine, full throttle or slow crawl—it is life in extremes, and it’s the nature of the bats. Bipolar Disorder, Manic Depressive, Mentally Ill—none of these labels evoke anything positive. Nevertheless, these are the labels in which I live under. I prefer far less psychiatric
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Happiness had never really existed. Situations and circumstances masqueraded as such, but genuine happiness had escaped me. If I had one excuse why it had, I had a thousand, but none of that seemed to matter anymore. Excuses were no longer acceptable. The time had come to face the facts and remove the mask. Happiness
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There are those of us, touched with fire; a fire that rageswithin, threatening to destroy the very mind in which itresides. It leaves behind a chaotic state of a whirling madnesswhich I have become the master of manipulating. There are scars that will never fade, and memories thatwill never free me. Then there is me,
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I heard what sounded like screaming early in the morning, not long after dawn. It sounded as if something was dying, slowly, painfully. It screeched out one last cry before silence fell. Death echoed in that silence. I looked out the window. I’m not sure what I expected to see. There was a gray hue to the
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The smell of death l lingered like a salesman that wouldn’t take no for an answer. The is something about the rotting of flesh that reminds on how mortal a being with a heartbeat is. The rain poured off and on between bursts of sunlight. It was late afternoon, but I was still in my
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The curse of perfectionism laid its heavy hand on my shoulder and whispered in my ear, counting all the ways I wasn’t good enough. I thought I’d learned not to listen to those whispers, but it appeared I was falling susceptible to them once again. I waited for the feeling to pass. A day or
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There is a pathThat leads to eternity,Where trees guide the wayWith unwavering certainty. There is a path where pain ceasesAnd dreams are released,Where one’s level of consciousnessIs greatly increased. There is a pathThat if you dare follow,What you are today,You shall no longer be tomorrow. There is a path to understandingWhere you will instinctively know,The
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Perceptions often distorted, Things not always as they seem; Reality is often illusion,That which is but a dream. What appears to be happiness,Is merely a cheerful mask;Nothing but a pleasant fiction,A daily perfected task. Can love break all barriers?Can it save an aching soul?Can it redeem a self-betrayal?Can it make an empty heart whole? A lifetime of
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The snow gently falls outside my window as my fingers sit idle on the keyboard. I can’t seem to take my eyes off its falling white powder. By February the snow, while always beautiful, is not all together desirable. Winter drags on and the cold becomes bitter. I miss the warm weather, the rain, and
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As I walked a path of orange and gold,The crisp feeling of the autumn air;I found myself lost in the memory of you,And pondered how life was unfair. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath,Had I come to terms with my choice?Sorrow washed in and filled me with regret;In my mind echoes the
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There is beauty inThe little things,Like song bird wingsAnd front porch swings. There is beauty everywhere,All around;The clouds in the sky,The flowers on the ground. There is beautyAnd if you try,You can see itAnd it may make you cry; For there is beauty inYour heart and soul,That will withstand timeAnd never grow old. From my
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18 May, 2010 – Tuesday, 4:00pm The black dog has been with me for some time now, and even the simplest of chores seem overwhelming. The days slip idly by and I’ve little inclination to do anything about it. I wish I could, and I make mental plans to; but while the body is willing,
SB LACROIX 