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Sleeping In The Snow

Saturday, January 7, 2017

I feel the need to write but of what I don't know. The thoughts vaporize the very moment they begin to manifest.

My head is filled with looped, unending, visions of the mingling of past and present. There is no cohesive pattern that can be identified.

My homeless, mentally ill, son sleeping in the streets of Portland in the snow is haunting. In my mind's eye I envision him crouching in crevices, hidden tunnels, tent city, hungry, cold, scared, confused. The beauty of downtown lights, parks, sidewalks, in the midst of snowflakes gently falling, is washed away with the realization a child of mine has chosen a life that has no foundation in reality.

The thought of him suffering is too much to dwell on, so I push it aside in favor of Jenga, hot chocolate, the fur of my German Shepherd that continually covers the Saltillo tile floors in my home, and how I will make it to the gym tomorrow in this weather.

I'm thinking of my newest tattoo and my addiction to ink, the allure, the rebellion, the sensual seduction it represents. I miss my sensual side, the eroticism screaming from deep within my soul. It's been buried for far too long and I'm not sure how much longer it can remain so. I feel out of sorts and unbalanced.

Next my mind wanders into the following week when I will be making a drastic change in my appearance. I'm excited but nervous, joyous but unsure.

I'm thinking of the feel of the Egyptian cotton sheets on my bare skin, the smell of the almond cream around my eyes, and the sound of a campfire emanating from the sleep therapy console on the dresser.

I have beautiful thoughts, symbolic imagery, dancing dreams, attempting to flow from my mind to my fingers to the keys on the computer but they are quelled by thoughts of warm weather, Palm Beach, Vallarta, Cabo, Waikiki, and those are darkened when the heart of a Mother remembers the smile of her child when he's not in a psychotic state. He's an adult now, and my hands are bound. However, my heart, my love, my concern is with each of my children but tonight mostly with the scruffy, bearded, man-child, roaming downtown avenues seeking a place of warmth in the icy cold of the harsh weather. May God be with him, and with all of my children.


4 comments:

middlechild January 7, 2017 at 10:46 PM  

And may God be with you too.
😚

Carol-Anne January 8, 2017 at 6:07 AM  

I have a child who is sleeping in prison, as he refuses to get treatment for his addictions. I can only think about it for seconds at a time, and then have to distract myself with TV, books, work.....anything to keep my heart from shattering completely.

I'm praying for your child too.

maggie Burgess January 8, 2017 at 7:09 AM  

All too true with our children, we pray that they are ok, but there is nothing we can do . Just pray for them ☹️

The Bipolar Diva January 8, 2017 at 9:46 AM  

thank you all so very much. i awoke this morning wondering if he made it through the night.

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