Me, Not Me (am etheree)
is not me
Ebullient to the point
where even strangers point fingers
at her dancing in the rain
How she sings along with grocery karaoke
Her ass sways as she pushes the cat
grabbing junk food, beer, and tofu with equal enthusiasm
This jitterbug dervish, drug-free hippiehead, the part I keep hidden.
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
She is, in fact, me on an old manic high in my manic-depressive cycle. I feel that, once in a while, I have to remind myself as much as my readers what it’s like to be caught in that bubble, flying overhead where all can see you. It’s so eacy to make run of someone in this state on the street – but I was once one of them. I’m managing through my psychiatrist and therapist – but once upon a time, I thought this was simply a facet of normal life, not understanding the embarrassment and possible damage to self I could inflict… did I mention that, when walking about town on a manic high, I never noticed traffic lights?