Ode to My Kitchen Floor

Crazy pill count:
AM 10 Adderall, 2.5 Zyprexa, 200 Lamictal, 30 Cymbalta, .5 Ativan,
afternoon 10 Adderall, 2.5 Zyprexa,
PM 2.5 Zyprexa

I am so beyond ecstatic to report I have been "balanced" for almost two weeks.
I feel...normal.
These moments are never taken for granted. I relish in laughter and friends. I exercise, and write, and cook, and feel...good. But not too good - not the on the way to manic good like I talk about here.

Just plain old good.

Despite my feeling "normal" and good I decided to write a little love poem to my kitchen floor. The kitchen floor is often a place where I find myself when I am falling to pieces. I don't have an exact reason for this, nor does it really make much sense, but it is my ultimate rock star crying location in The Joy of Being Bipolar: Everyday moods that destroy your day's Helpful Guide: Best Places to Cry.

From my good place, I dedicate this post to my bad place:

I lay.

I sob.

I gasp.

I howl.

I scream.

My checks 

Rest upon you,

Cool

Solid

Firm.

Surrender, you say.

I kick 

My legs,

I fail 

My arms,

I punch 

Your hard 

Ceramic form.

You let me.

Surrender, you say.

My strength, 

Vanished

Voided
Gone.

Endlessly?

Or 
Just for now?

Surrender, you say. 

My mind 

Is failing me.

Bits of sanity,

Swiftly 

Slipping

Out of my ears.

I can't stop it.

Surrender, you say.

I swallow a pill.

I wait.

To lose 

My mind?

Or 
To recover?

Can I survive?
You can, you say.

I surrender...

Until next time...