Wednesday, December 29, 2010

Winter's Scorn -a letter regarding the mental illness of the upper midwest-

My dear friend,
I fear it is with a heavy heart I write this letter. However, I can keep it tucked away no longer. An issue has been eating away at the core of my being for quite sometime and frankly, it must be addressed. I truly believe this confrontation is the only path to reconciliation and peace.
The issue I speak of is somewhat sensitive in nature, which is perhaps the reason I have been so hesistant to bring it up. I have sucessfully avoided the issue all together a few times, but this was only by avoiding you altogether which may or may not have done either of us any good.
I am not even entirely sure that you are aware of this wieghty situation. I'm told those with your condition or those similar to it often are not. But what I can assure you is that there are many professionals who can aid you tremendously with overcoming this misfortune of mental stability. I, however, simply cannot bear the brunt of it any longer.
While so often you are supremely good and generous to me, you seem to be harboring a sort of split personality, extreme mood swings, at least, causing to you move from genuinely amiable to being a full on bastard. Barely I can tell you are one and the same as your pendulum swings wildly from one side to the next. You shine on me rays of glorious sunshine and nourish me with that which you yourself bear. Like a child eager to please her mother, you bring me sweet and heart-warming gifts. A flower. A strawberry. A rainbow. A song.
Like a lover you woo me with your sultry nights. I lie back in your arms and gaze at the stars.
But then, as if weary of doting, as if sick of my praise, your kindness flees and I am left alone in the outer most layer of hell. Though I hold on so tightly, I watch as you fade. Dr. Jekyll becomes Mr. Hyde. Any kindness you've given, you yank from my hands and finally...spit in my face. While once we embraced, we each now have become lovers scorned.
What have I done to you?
Where did I ere?
Whatever it is, I repent!
Here I am on my knees, pleading with you. Begging you'll stop and you'll see...the one I know you can be. You'll remember those warm summer nights, those crisp autumn days...the beauty of you that you seem to forget. When your whispers brushed the lobes of my ears, your warmth caressed my back. Return to the time when your rain flooded the land with wildflowers and your soil was the sorce of life. This death of your winter, simply too much to bear.
Though I bow humbly before you and beg for your grace, now again your fist ready to strike. As I brace for your blow, one last time, I implore, return to who I know you can be. This devestation wears on you as well as on me. I see it as your color seeps slowly away each time this affliction rears its ugly head. So much of you dies, and that which survives merely inches along. And saftey's a matter, nearly too grave to mention. I'll not mention the countless lives lost. Surely, for that matter alone, you must be willing to face this unholy side of yourself, and once and for all, overcome. This cataclysm must come to an end.
These words of harsh reality, hard to bear, I know. But I come to you as friend and one who dwells in your embrace, both cuddled and crushed. Please. Get help. I will assist in any way that I can. I eagerly await the day when I can finally rest wholly in you...steady and unwavering.
Be well, friend.

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