I was sitting in front of my computer at the time. I still am; it happened a few minutes ago.
I felt horrid, and while the catalysts for this whole malaise are important, they need not be mentioned; they’re a useless detail in the retelling. All that needs to be said is that I felt a great heaviness in my heart, I was somewhat immersed in self pity, and I’m not sure if I could see the forest for the trees. Bipolarity isn’t a monster that stalks me so closely anymore, but we still have a Calvin and Hobbes style relationship. When I’m up, I have all the energy I need to do everything; the days are, truly, packed. When I’m down, it feels like I have been randomly assaulted by a tiger that I made up in my own head.
I opened “Wordpad”, as I thought that writing some poetry might channel some measure of the pain I felt. I was hoping that maybe I could find some way to center myself and refocus. I closed my eyes as I concentrated, and it was as if I could see the thousands of half formed words and phrases dancing in front of my mind’s eye. All of them out of reach, but still tangible. Still apart of me. An ocean of ideas and concepts, cast upon some intangible night sky. So much that I could see, but not use; I found it frustrating to be unable to make anything of it, but also somewhat comforting to know that it was all there.
Somewhere, in the back of my head, a tiny little voice said, “There has always been power here; you just need to learn how to use it.” I don’t know if it was a spiritual entity, or some scrap of my own ego…but it was a powerful realization.
I opened my eyes. I looked at the field of white, contained within the underpowered word processing program that lay before me. I was dumbfounded. After a few moment more, I smirked. Turned out all the poetry that I needed, never needed to be written.