Our world decided to reopen.
A deadly pandemic polarizing its people.
A dollar bill weighed against a heartbeat.
You’d be surprised what we value.

But what about me?
The inner alarm on a continuous loop.
Shouting in shame.
My plague has no cure.

“Isolation” and “shelter in place” are household terms
for those under the weight of depression.
We are jealous of the cardinal that sweeps past our window,
the elderly man who waves from the street.

Freedom.
To rise each day with an appreciation for life.
To be touched by another.
To fall in love with yourself and someone else.

But today, I cannot.
Today, my eyes stare out the window.
A celebration of “opening back up.”
One day, I wish to join them.

It seems like a free fall, really.
Like when you are 12.
On a roller coaster, topping the first drop.
Veroomph!
Your face contorts itself into disfigured smirks and smiles.
You don’t control the expressions. They just happen.

And, so it is in death.
It’s a free fall.
A letting go of all restraints.
The tension and tears rip away like a massive band aid.
To say you aren’t scared would be a lie.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
The graduation of height opens the landscape.
You suddenly see the world from above.
Everything. Everyone is a microscopic version of themselves.

And then it pauses. The ride.
Your life.
Waits. “One Mississippi…two Mississippi…”
It’s not an open invitation to get off, mind you.
You’ve purchased the ticket. A price has been paid.

So, with a slight hesitation, you calm yourself.
You settle into the seat.
Stare at the birds.
Lift your hands to heaven.
Silence. Silence.
The world makes a picture for you.
But, you are no longer in the frame.

A silent shriek,
morning hues of red and orange glitter through the pines.
Shadows form across the bedroom floor.

His vocal chords strain to be heard
above the laughter of the lilies.
Thrusting to and fro in a synchronized stance
they’d been practicing since the first of May.

An ominous cloud crosses over the heat source,
calling into question the events of the day.
Rays or rain?
A quarter, spinning and twisting in slow motion,
heads or tails?
The stakes are high.

Mr. Anthony, my neighbor of two decades,
rounds the corner of Dibbens Street.
Completing his morning trek pass the Weeping Willows,
he pauses to look in my window.
Pauses.
Does he see? Can he possibly know?

Heads or tails?
And for today, the decision is made for me.
I decide to stand.
To repeat it all over again, tomorrow.

An inch.
No more, but an inch, nonetheless.
A puff of air breezes upon his face.
Taking him by surprise.
Not expecting anything, anymore.
His eyes widen in layered expectancy.
This was not supposed to happen.
It messes up the plan.
But one inch changes everything, now.
Sure, it is invisible to others.
It is broken now.
Not worthy of use.
It must be replaced.
Something is now missing.
So, without further thought,
we cast it aside.
It has no life of its on.
And, that probably is a good thing.
To realize you are broken,
that you are lacking in use to others,
well, that load is rather heavy to bear.
You see, we are looking for that inch.
The inch provides hope.
Hope that we can still breathe.
Taking in a puff of life to examine ourselves.
Staring within.
Invisible.
Because through the broken lens,
the fragments form our faith.
We need that inch.
To live another day.

I don’t worry.
I don’t concern myself with the branch falling.
I don’t hesitate before flight wondering if my wings will flap.
I. Just. Fly.

My thoughts are present-minded,
Where will my next meal come from is not a concern.
I always gather food.
I always have a place to rest.
Abandonment is not an issue.
My friends flutter their wings and sing to me each day.
Loneliness, I do not feel.

Luke 12:24 Consider the ravens: They do not sow or reap, they have no storeroom or barn; yet God feeds them. And how much more valuable you are than birds!

But, to that bird I say, “What if knowing I am more valued than yourself, makes me feel even worse with the current thoughts flapping within my mind?”

Unable to focus just on today because my past mistakes rob me of peace.
Waking up after a few hours of restlessness only to wake up to feelings of despair, hopelessness, betrayal, disdain, fragility.
Fragility.
This one is the most difficult to reckon with. To consider myself, one with years of education, both in the real world and through books, that I could have ended up here.

You, Mr. or Mrs. Bird, have not ripped through relationships, blown up your MasterCard through frivilus spending, or attempted to off yourself by running face first into a window pane.

You have not questioned God for the plight with which you are stricken, or deeply felt loss that brought about a monsoon of tears. For that, I am glad for you.

Your life is not supposed to last as long as mine. Theoretically.
I am supposed to be married, have a home filled with laughter, bake cookies after church on Sunday’s.

I am supposed, now in my forties, to be at my peek existence.
To be in fine health, have a close circle of friends that meet up for drinks or charades.

I am supposed to have a rewarding career, have wisdom for my adult children when they fall, and created a nest egg that will be waiting upon retirement in a few years.

Mr. or Mrs. Bird, I have none of those things.
Having a mental illness has robbed me of those things.
It did not ask my permission to do so.
Kind of just walked inside my home through the front door without knocking. Just showed up. No greetings or introductions.
No deep conversations or a note left detailing how you would affect my life.
You. Just. Showed. Up.

April 30, 2020:

“Today, it is raining. The streets are covered with glistening lights of taxis taking hurried occupants to their destinations.
After work, families will eat a meal together, laugh or cry about an event at work that transpired.
They will tuck their children into bed, say a prayer, then close their eyes in peace.
A belief that tomorrow will be better than today.
An Anne Frank quote about believing there is still good in this world.

To be a bird just for a day.
To trust someone or something will hold you up today.
To know in your heart you can count on yourself to come through. To sing melodies with wild abandon, to flap about in boastful swoons.
To watch the sunrise with hope and the sunset with pride of your accomplishments.
Oh, to be a bird.

(My future self) just wanted to say
the pain, one day, will fall away.
The deep sorrow that now fills your soul
Regrets, too many, have taken its toll.
(You’ll smile again)

(Present Self)
Relationships broken, like a match to a flame
looking around, with no one else to blame.
Empty promises so hollow, I wish had been kept
Chess pieces have been moved, and for now I am trapped.

(Future Self)
But, my future self interrupts once more
gently walks up to me, staring into my core.
An abundant life still awaits you; you shall see
Stand up; wipe your tears; listen to me.

(Us)
You had to be torn down, to build something new
One tiny step, one more breath, till your breakthrough.

by: Perry Loggins


With a forlorn hope, he expected the questions to arise, “Are you ok? How have you been?”
But his sluggish shoulders showed the inaccuracy of his prediction.
People passed. Walked by. Feeding on their own parasites. Leaches ******* the blood of all their hopes and dreams. Survival. They were just trying to survive.
Another breath for themselves.
Incapable of extending a life vest, because there was only one left.

Tick. Tock. The isolation intertwines within the troubled soul. Growing daily, it marches with conviction.
“I **, I **, it’s off to work we go!”
The morbidity of his suffering fails to startle those he meets. He covers it well behind the mask.
A smile. A gesture. “I’m fine,” he replies.
Off the hook, he thinks.
They don’t have to feel the pain.

In the abyss of loneliness, you discover your truths.
Your ideals.
Somber tones paper themselves upon the the walls of your heart.
You become disenchanted with those that seek joy.
A happiness that forever eludes you.
The solitude beckons you each morning.
Triumphating its arrival with horns and confetti.
A celebration of an event with which you were not invited.

Tapered wings fold in half, silent breaths become no more. The somber soul forever frozen.
With a wistful blink, he gathers his thoughts.
“I loved them so much, but can love no more.”
The mask is taken off. So pure. So white.