When the mist on the pond lifts up to the air

The morning hath come and I give witness to life once again.

For I am up through the night, my old haunts hath returned

A way of coping, of living:  just what I gotta do for right now.

So I edit a magazine, make charts of treatments, plan for when I will be well,

Most folks would not notice the shifts ever so small

The wretched episodes continue albeit with shaking, less overall.

I had to gain courage to take more meds/more remedies than ever before

Go rogue to kill the monsters within with faith and every tool from this road.

“Parasites in the brain” sounds pretty scary might you agree?

Yet that is exactly where I have arrived so be that as it may

Find me spacey perchance to dream when restorative sleep comes that way.

The smaller treats of life mean more to me now in my softened state

I get to see them in slow motion and savior their texture, their smell even when awful like glue.

What is before me fills every moment in much more detail

Healing comes small before big so intentionally I walk through most of the day.

Don’t get me wrong, the chores fill more hours than they used to years ago

That ‘s just one part of the plan so is rest and in times of rest I believe answers we have found.