Thrive

I’m afraid to write on my new Adhd medication; as opposed to before when I simply couldn’t find the words to embroider onto the page. Stitching a rich tapestry of words has always been this inane calling to me, something to dream about on lonely depressing nights where sleep or comfort would escape me.

I don’t know if taking these drugs will help or hurt this pursuit, I genuinely don’t. And, honestly, it doesn’t feel like it does matter either way. I either become an absolute dullard, words spilling off the page and into the drained wasteland that is my creativity; or my wit is finally an tool as opposed to the raging inferno that would explode out at complete and utter random, instead it would be a fine hammer, anvil and tongs to work the burgeoning molten worlds into their proper shape.

Either one of these scenarios is fine to me. For the first time in my entire life, I think that I actually relaxed. Muscles that I didn’t even know I had, ached with the sweet painful relief of tension.

For this, I’d give up my dream.

But that isn’t going to happen. In that same way I am relaxed. I finally feel in control of myself in a way that is hard to catalyze and describe to someone who has never lived their life in a state of non-autonomy( automatically, ironically. notonomy,) This is the second time that my life has been inexplicably altered by the use of medication to rebalance the disparate warring chemical imbalances in my brain.

I may be exaggerating, it is only the first day... a low dose; but if that is what becomes my new daily, my normal, then I am the luckiest thing in all creation to have survived myself long enough to reach here.

First I survived,

Now maybe... just maybe... I can thrive.

---

On a lone dusty hill

On a cold summer’s eve

With grass wilted and waned,

Underneath the latent wisps of a once mighty tree

Underneath the notice of gods;

There was a warrior, and they were dying.

A sword had pierced chainmail and run through their gut, straight into the tree.

Their eyes closed.

---

Blood seeped into the dirt, binding the dust into a strong slurry. Offal sank beneath it, feeding the grass and roots.

The tree grew once more, and spread its seed along this most ancient of battlegrounds; this forest of kinship blossomed and spread, growing from death, from the loose chaff of the warrior.

--

In the turning of the dawn he came; a book bound in the flesh of the dead and written in the script of those long departed.

In this hour of reprisal, footsteps dampened the fresh grass and disturbed the forest. Soft ether flickered around his being, drawing a deep shadow across their hooded face.

The ancient tree held a lonely skeleton in a tight embrace. Bark threatend to engulf its being , to entomb it forever in the forest. A sword sprouted from where a belly might once have been.

“Karoom Atal, Tharoom Venir”