I come from a large family. I have six brothers and five sisters. I'm number 11. We all have the same parents. My mother was a strong, determined woman. My father he is very strong, too. When I was nineteen they said I was a thing. The thing was called manic-depression. I hated the word. When I looked in the mirror I saw myself, not the thing they called me. I didn't want to know anything about it, but I ended up taking Behavioral Science. My brother said it was the best thing for me to do since no one really knew much about it, they were basically business majors. I was one who was different, I was taking Communication Arts, when I had my breaking point in school. It was freaky. Well, I found that to be impossible. I didn't want to do that. I wanted to be a director, a writer, like my uncle who made a great mark in the movie industry. I wanted to be the one to say, "Lights! Camera! Action!". I knew there was something wrong. Every time I went to school, I didn't enjoy familiar faces saying thing stuff about me. But I knew I was there to learn more. What a struggle it was. In the midst of my college years, I was date-raped by a "friend" of my sister-in-law. He was married. I was holding a torch for an old high school crush who left to join the USAF, at the time. Everyone said I was a slut. But it wasn't true. I was a chaperone for my sister-in-law. She and her friends were sleeping around with married men. It just so happened I was having another nervous breakdown. I was also drunk, I said, "No." I didn't know. In the Philippines, there's no such thing as date-rape. I almost didn't get to graduate. But I did. I felt proud of myself. But I also felt no one was really proud of me. How could they? I was a thing and/or have a thing. I ended up with all sorts of work, of my own choice. From Administrative Assistant, Secretary, Speech Writer, Copywriter. I enjoyed copywriting, had a few ads out, one was a big hit for Vivitar. I felt good about me. But the ad agency paid measley and the creative director wanted me, I didn't want him. When I came to Canada, I knew life would be different, better. My mother passed away. It was hard. Later, I found my husband. He literally opened the door for me. Because I didn't know how to open the door. We fell in love, got married and today we have two beautiful children. A girl and a boy, they're ten months apart. We were in a hurry. I wasn't that young when we met. I was 31. He looked like Michael J. Fox, now he looks like Bruce Willis. I love him, even though he doesn't look like Michael J. Fox anymore. He's my soul-mate, my best friend, my buddy, he's everything to me. I'm so lucky. I told him I have the thing. He didn't care, he doesn't care about that. To turn back the clock, I couldn't have it any other way. Why? Because I wouldn't have had met the man of my life. And he's also so great behind.

"Manic Justice"

Comments I don't like hearing are going through my mind.

"You expect people to tolerate you."
like ...

"Putris!... you're a patient!"
"I wouldn't be surprised if your family disowns you."
"Well, hey... what goes around, comes around."

Though I know these don't last too long,
I keep wondering
how these people could think
I am sick, ignorant or negative.

Many a time they would gossip.
And snicker deliciously.
So who am I to perceive them as such?

Is that right?
When I make my diagnosis known,
it is NOT intended to justify my thinking.
My purpose?
For the person to acknowledge the chemical imbalance.

At times the farthest thing in my mind comes rushing through,

bothering me. Sometimes these words hurt.
Though I say,
" 'Used to this.
Not a first time.' "
Friends and even family label this, "insanity".
When they
are told, "manic depression",
I hear, "Ah-ha!! No wonder."
It explains everything to them, as they lay there
sleeping in their ignorance.

Depression has been written with one of the causes:

negative thinking.

How much can a person with NO disorder,
accept that depression sets into the mind from negative circumstances?
How can it be easy for a manic-depressive
to accept that a small part of the world population,
opens its mind to knowledge of the disorder?
Inasmuch as mental illness was what it was referred to, the word disorder has come about to ease the
reading of the general public.

Tell me...

is it alarming to hear or read the words "mental illness",
as compared to "disorder"?

Nevertheless, try to remember, we manic-depressives
hurt inside, as sufferers and survivors.
We are rather part of the crowd,
walking down the sidewalk,
riding in a car,
a component
of the working class,
single,
married,
parents, if not citizens.

Need I go on?
We struggle in our disorder.
Some of us are
having difficulty accepting it.

And would you accept it,
if it happened to you?
How soon would you accept it?

Strange
as it may seem,

when our disorder is discovered by others,

we are given special treatment.
The kind that existed in the Dark Ages.
All men are NOT created equal.

I remember how I held on to the Seventies Motto

for years.

Somehow, I wish that were so,
Then, we would all be manic-depressives today.
© Lucy Edwards 1997

When I learned about the Borzoi On-Line I was enchanted by stories, articles, poetry, books coming in and out, their newsletters. It was hard for me to get out of the site of the beautiful, inspiring, marvelous world of works. As I spent more time at the site, little did I know there was a world to discover: The Knopf Poetry Discussion Group. There I found poets, writers, talent waiting to be read. I made a few friends, whose friendship I treasure, as the craft of writing was being practiced, learned day-by-day. It was there where I found an author who's words brought insight, inspiration, the art of sufficiency. - I wouldn't mind being a parrot if a genie came by and offered me only one wish. Your wish Is my command, now what kind of bird would you like to be? - Simply astonishing.
The mastering of expressions, the creation of a soaring spirit. Depending on what your write is all about, I learned truth and dignity, blends beautifully with the craft of writing and inspiration. Now look what I just did. I made authored soup. "The Poet As I See One" is a version from
The New Year Writes dedicated to a brilliant poet, the maestro of poetry, Andre Emmanuel ben-Davi ben-Yehu.

With My Respect, Admiration, Gratitude

This one is for you, Andre Emmanuel ben-Davi ben-Yehu
Each author holds his pen with the fingers of his soul;
A day is an eternity and his future is just now...
It is his turn to describe the dawn of tomorrow,
Transacting through the epitome his "I" dictates,
Defusing words in the exact likeness of his task!

His heart guides and prods his pen to poetize voices...
Emotions poemized by his wondering mind;
He pays attention to his mission and conceptions
Allocating choices for words, forms, and warrants.

His blood is his ink and his quills are his tools.
His thoughts poemize his emotions and his art flowers;
The oil of his lamp has scent of perseverance
And its light warrants what love can create!

Never would he fear the expressions he vows
For his commitments are sworn to be a live feeling,
A sacred sign of strength for one's life dedication.
His fourth dimension is within his divine soul...
His universe that never ends the psychobiology
In the divinity of the humanity of his mind!
Copright © Lucy Edwards 2003