I’m sitting in a Starbuck’s with a great cup of coffee, noise, and song. I like it here; the energy is vibrant. I stopped coming for awhile because I wanted to be available to my 95-year-old neighbor. Her daughter was paying me money to clean and keep an eye on her. Well, the neighbor fired me! She said I wasn’t worth $60 a week. I know her statement wasn’t meant to hurt. I know not to take it personal; it is just a matter of budget, which I understand. I am still available to her, just not all the time. The $60 was going to pay my Starbuck’s bill…oh well!!
I’m amazed at how often I mention birds in the manuscript.
The sun has not dreamt itself awake yet. I cannot hear through the window the excited nature of birds announcing dawn.
The skull he becomes with the use of cocaine leaves him with no expression although inside he feels he is bursting and all drives are heightened. He wants to do things he is incapable of doing like jumping off the fifteen story high Bank of America, migrating with the birds heading north for a place of safety.
Gladys was thin and frail, swimming in a night coat the color of salmon with a voice as large as the Liberty Bell at noon on a clear morning of quiet birds.
Hunter lifts her head, slowly, its weight apparent. It is possible for a head to weigh more than a few pounds on a disenchanted day when even birds stay in the limbs and droop.
Today is June 11, 2013. I am alive and well.
You are one of the most brave people I know. Your book, your recovery, just you-has the capability to not only change people minds about mental illness, but their hearts. God gave us our stories, as painful as they were, to help people, to inspire them, and most of all to give them hope. I am so honored to call you friend.
I love you,