I woke up right to the middle of a tune playing in my head, even as the headache punched in his card and showed up for work. During the first stretch of the day, where I gasp for air and choke on my own coughs down the steps out of the building; the sounds suddenly rang out in a full symphony, this grand collection of voices, chords, whistles, and clangs; a perfect melody.

I felt my mood begin to level out, even with the extra 10 mg of Paxil a day and the new litanies of pills I take to get me through the day. But it was more than that, more than official and authoritative sounding names of manic episodes, bipolar disorder, anxiety, schizotypical personality; useless categories---because I felt aglow, I became aglow. Yet again I basked in the day, in the sun, as I heard the song sung in full force, full fervor, and it sang: I am grateful for this day, I am grateful for this day.

I’ve been making an honest effort of getting out of the cage again: meeting appointments, getting the forms filled out, and not drinking alone. But I think Gabe and I have finally realized that there’s no way we can even be friends, or maybe we could. You know the type that can’t stand the sight of each other and bicker over every word said. We hadn't seen each other since high school, and it was great to meet up again, but the longer we were together, the more I realized I wanted to choke him with his make-shift, fake tie, hanging over his overly washed "The Casualties" t-shirt.

Still for all the disappointments of the outside world, there’s the books and the inspired ideas and the writing I never really feel I do enough. There’s my spot of serenity by the river, hours spent with the headphones buzzing, the water rushing, the trees rustling, the eyes scanning with a child-like wonder at what may lie behind the next page, and the furious scribblings into paper notebooks.

I was surrounded by this massive natural surrounding, even with the paved paths a couple yards away and distant motor would roars. I felt at peace: like the way water that flows, like the tree that sits and never wonders why. Because that’s the way nature intended it and here I am, saddled with these natural disorders. All those synthetical chemicals I used to hurry the rot and now even more synthetic chemicals to balance my brain; these chemicals, these endless pesticides weeding out my imperfections.

And every time I think of the balance, I think of the days of chasing death and now the need to return to a more natural way. Without the swigs of whiskey and the pills to help me sleep. The answer should be alarming but it isn’t, it fills me with peace; this idea of balance and returning to a natural way. Wear the heavy overcoat with the bloated pockets, to step out into the distance of the river surrounded by the beauty of the trees, the plants, the water, the brush, and the sun. Such simple things, which merely sits and exists. The essence of peace and beauty in just sitting and existing, all these things which always seem slightly of reach.

But it’s not a return, because there’s nothing that I can remember returning to. Nothing but escapes to fiction and days spent with only a couple of friends. There’s just memories which either haunt, warn, or warm. The way the gritty taste of red wine lingering on the tongue of an arid mouth, acid reflux from too many amphetamines, the smell of incense burning. Smokey basements blaring loud techno or the Notorious BIG and I either deflated and remain motionless in a haze (it would be an effort just to summon a chuckle) or the same scene with quaking knees and the unfamiliar eyes of the mirror meeting mine as I dove in for the line. And this was all I was but not all I am and not all I will be.