Dear Diary

Dear Diary:

Without a warning she snapped like a dried twig.
It had been brewing inside for a while but we didn't know it.
Clothes came off and she streaked through the market.
If I were a better sister I would have forseen trouble.

She remembers nothing and denied it happened.
Always articulate,kind,and artistic,but genetic chaos won.
It was growing inside the hormones, chemicals and DNA.
Brought on by traumatic events when she was hurt badly.

Not only did she lose her right mind, but her adult freedoms as well.
Don't leave her alone with cleaning products or she will injest them.
Before she was an artist using paints and chalks, pencils and canvases.
Living through the shame by hiding in other's low expectations and opinions.

More clear moments than insane ones, but no one really talks to her now.
Afraid of catching what she has,they keep a physical and emotional distance.
Once,she made sense and was taken seriously and so were her opinions.
Now she lives in the caricature of herself that she has allowed herself to be in.

Busying herself in simple,childlike activities to pass the agonizing hours.
Hands and limbs shake from the cure that causes disease and disappointment.
Afraid to be close to anyone in fear of them being repulsed by another episode.
Were there a cure it would do her no good as she believes she is incurable.

I feel relief writing about her illness so should I encourage her to do the same?
She seems to be a being that is totally covered in panic buttons these days.
I don't want to push any but I can't just neglect her and leave her to rot.
Can I find a safe but yet productive middle-ground to help her come back?

Crazyness and confusion now surface and I give her space to leave or relax.
I want to reach in and rip out the brain-devils that rob her and me of peace.
Pacing my conversation and gingerly choosing safe topics,I feel tense.
She has lost so much, I feel she deserves for me to be there at any cost.

By: KImarie Manhart-Freeman