Lily

27th March 2017

If there was ever a time in my life to have taken the leap of faith, and finally return home, I believe that my decision was at the very least amicable. A five-year departure had left, what could only be described as a black hole; consuming my heart and mind, void of all substance, and veiled my inner most emotions. This darkness, that had followed me my entire life, grew each day my body ceased to be upon the English soil of home. Continuously moving so that I could finally settle, only caused the gaping hole to grow at a substantial rate.

I had my good days, which like the laughter of a child, echoed in my soul. Enabling my creative side, to flow in its fullest force. I lived well, considering I was a ‘struggling’ artist, with copious amounts of travel, functions, obligatory dinners and business meetings. Which enabled a comfortable living, for the most part. What followed of course, was plenty of rich men. Who clichéd themselves by falling for a creative individual, who spent most nights on couches, never settling, and never satisfied. For the most part, it was gifts, affection, and often mind-blowing sex. The rest of the time, was obsession. Marriage proposals, flowing like a river after monsoon season, reckless and destructive – all that remained, in the end, were broken hearts, divided homes, and I was once again on the move.

Yet, my bad days were like nuclear explosions, whose debris and dust clouded my thoughts and emotions, until I was no longer in control of my own body. Erratic behaviour, and dangerous thoughts, only led to situations that frightened myself and all those around me; who had been mystified by my creative light. When the dust settled, I regretted what I could have done, could do, will do?

That was my sickness, like a cancer, it had taken over my life, weakened my spirit, and I was left so utterly derived of emotion, that the pain of death, seemed like nothing to me anymore. Being bipolar meant that I was inhibited from living my life to the fullest, my hurricane, only left destruction in its path. So, I travelled further away from home. Away from the lives I had destroyed. Away from the life that I had left behind. And yet here I sat, in a compressed, dingy seat, ten thousand miles in the air, with home in sight. Regretting every second that home loomed nearer.