Ray’s Rays, Number 21
Lost Daze
by
Radiance Angelina Petro
For me, they happen most in summertime.
Maybe it’s lying on the bed in my room
and hearing children playing somewhere in the distance,
or a lawn mower, or a breeze that rustles the drapes, and misses me entirely.
Lost days have been happening to me since the day
the traumas began. Not everyday, of course, but some days–
some days are like one long, lost, timeless drifting–a sort of
drowsiness, a kind of loneliness that is crushing.
Sometimes it helps—the old adage: Move a muscle, change a thought.
Sometimes it helps to go for a walk. And sometimes,
this deep sense of being inside a lost day is a horrible
manifestation of my clinical depression, and no adage
or activity will help. Somehow, I have to ride the wave,
or drift with the wave, or somehow not drown in the wave.
And there are days when the wave takes me under
and I am barely alive when it spits me up on the shore
whenever it’s through with me.
Being bi-polar, there is another kind of lost day.
It’s the one when the mania grabs me in its jaws
and thrashes me around. It’s when I go shopping
in wild, dangerous spending sprees—spending time
and money indoors—going from place to place–
being outside only long enough to go from car to store
and store to car. I sense the day is happening—the sun,
the blue sky, the lazy bobbing dragonflies landing on the car,
and I can’t stop. The wave is pushing me—forcing me
to move and, without thinking, I lose myself, and my money,
in an empty, wasted day. When I get home I look at what I bought
and am most often like–”Why did I buy that?” Mania
does that to me, and no amount of deep breathing
or mindfulness can slow me down. It’s terrifying.
I have lost many days to depression and/or mania,
and it sucks. It is a deep hopelessness and loneliness
that hollows the bones and causes me to lose myself–
a tasteless, formless dissociation that drifts in and out of the window.
So, what do I do when depression steals my day (or days)?, or when
mania hijacks my day (days)? I do my best, as I said above–
to try and ride it out. In the case of mania—I hold on for dear life.
In depression, I sleep—let the day lift itself away.
With both mania and depression, I keep taking my meds.
I stay as close to trusted people as possible. And, it’s
not easy—and often seems impossible. Somehow,
I am still here. I hope you are too. Ride out the wave.
No matter the existential feelings, you’ll be glad you did.
You are strong, even in weakness. You have rode many waves
and made it to the shore. This one will be no different.
You will survive, and perhaps, riding the waves will become
closer to surfing.