Blake comes into the bedroom where I’m folding some clothes and stuffing them away in the dresser drawers. He asks me if I’m ready to go. I look at my journal lying on the bed as if it is some foreign object that I’m not familiar with. I never read it after that incident in the garden with Aunt Rachel. I didn’t need to anymore.
“Yes, I’m ready, let’s go.”
I grab the journal and we head downstairs to the front entryway doors. It takes about fifteen minutes before we get where we’re going. The forest looks absolutely lovely this time of year.
We walk up to a small picnic area where the empty grills are. I take the journal out of my bag and lay it on one of them.
“Sure you wanna do this?” Blake asks.
“I’m sure.”
Blake walks over to the picnic tables and takes a seat.
I take the matchbox out of my pocket and strike a match. As the flame plumes out, Amelia whispers in my mind, The fire, the fire.
I drop the flamed match inside the grill and watch the paper char and burn. Amelia says again, The fire, Milly, the fire.
I stare into the fire and the vision of the child’s room emerges—my room. I hear shouts from downstairs. My parents are fighting. I hear what they say about me. My mind starts to blur. When I open my eyes, I see a book of matches in my hand. Amelia forces me to the window and crouches my body down. There she uses my hand to strike the match and light the curtain on fire. As I watch the flame grow along the walls, I am channeled back to the present.
I look down at the matches in my hand and whisper into the sizzling fire, “Did you do it? Did you start the fire, Amelia?”
There’s a long moment of silence between us. For a while, I don’t think she will ever answer me. All I hear is the fire crackling and the spit of sparks dancing in the air. Then suddenly as I watch my journal go up in flames, she whispers back, Yes. I didn’t mean to hurt them. I just wanted the release.
Even though she started the fires, I don’t hate Amelia. Her life has been so sad, so full of fear and pain. I am no longer in denial of the truth. Nor do I harbor anger toward Aunt Rachel. Not even George. After all that has happened, I am now looking ahead and into the future instead of searching for what happened to me in my past. And I’ve come to terms with the idea that Amelia will always be a part of me—because Amelia and I are one.
Crashing into Her
I was a child when my breath caught the warmth
of summer, playing an innocent game of tag between
the school grounds and the shadows of the trees.
I was supposed to chase her through the green
as we drove into an older part of life. Be right
behind her with everything—watch over her.
I stopped at the light as she proceeded to cross
the path without looking. She thought I would follow
in the shadows of the neighborhood like before.
I grew up when our eyes met with oncoming reality
blinking—tag, you’re it, not meaning to kill her
feelings after our mind split.
Author’s Note
I was diagnosed Bipolar with psychotic features in June of 2004. I remember the day like it was yesterday—a horrid nightmare that marred my reality. It was the day I had my first bipolar episode. And from that day on, nothing’s ever been the same. I used to write when I was a teen, keeping a journal, but it wasn’t until my doctor suggested writing as a coping skill that I wrote daily. That was ten years ago and in those ten years, I’ve grown to overcome the illness and manage it with medication, regular doctor visits, a healthy diet, and writing every day.
The first six years after diagnosis were the roughest years in my life. I went on to have several more bipolar episodes—from running half-naked in the streets asking for God to take me away, to demolishing the family car in a severe car crash. And in my depression stages, I lost a year and a half of my life, barely functioning to get out of bed. I missed my son’s hockey season; I’ve missed my daughter’s softball; and a whole slew of others things all because I couldn’t find a way out of my own mind. In those moments, I wasn’t in control. It was the biggest battle of my life and I was at war with myself for years. But writing has always kept me at bay. And miraculously, through the grace of God, I’m still here—for a reason. Because I believe everything happens for a reason.
Finally, the crash was the biggest wake-up call of them all. I wanted to fight for my life again and regain control, any way I knew how. But to do that, first I needed to forgive myself for having a mental illness. It’s not my fault. It’s no one’s fault. I didn’t make the mental illness happen. I had to realize that I couldn’t fight this illness myself, because it was beyond my control. So I decided to ask the Big Guy in the sky for help, to give me the strength to accept my mental illness, and to move on with my life. And with the support of my family and friends and always keeping the faith, even in the darkest corners of my mind, my life has changed for the better.
For more information on mental illness, please visit:
www.HealthyPlace.com.
National Alliance on Mental Illness: www.nami.org/
The National Hopeline Network: 1-800-SUICIDE (1-800-784-2433)
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-TALK (1-800-273-8255)
Serenity Prayer
God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
The courage to change the things I can,
And wisdom to know the difference.
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