Waiting for the burn. Not any kind of “fun” burn but the burn as in “crash and burn”. You sit and wait. You feel it, really it has been here all along but you have managed to push it away over and over like pushing away someone trying to overpower you. This is different because there are no balls to kick, no throat to punch and no eyes to jab. It is what it is at that moment when you finally realize that you are an irritable bitch not because you are tired but because tired and bitch go together when the world crashes. Your mind spins and races while nothing gets done. I believe they call this a “mixed state”. If you have never been here, on a regular basis, then you can’t understand, ever. I can’t even try to explain it to you as it is unfathomable in the “real” world. It is the middle meeting ground of mental illness. The place that makes you realize that death is real and near. Events as of late have helped to exacerbate the swing more than I know, at least that is what I think the head shrinker was trying to say in her lovable accent. I thought, really believed, that 2013 was it. It would be my year. A published story, a man that I was in love with that supposedly loved in return, the prospect of a life that has eluded me in recent years. Instead, I struggle to stay on task. Even the dishes have become my worst enemy in the last couple of days. I have been working on a painting. All work has ceased as of late, I realized today that I had been waiting for this moment of darkness to finish it. I sometimes wonder who, if anyone, in my family shares these genetics. I have a feeling some do but are afraid of what admission means to the genius that is them. I am a surprise, even to myself. A surprise wrapped up in a pretty bow.