Dear Penelope,

It’s been awhile since I’ve written you.

How do the meds feel? Do you hate them? Do you hate me?

I know you’re still here. I pause. Why exactly are you still here?

I’d like you to leave, but yet you stay.

I was once asked to leave, so I left. It hurt. I was surprised I was asked to leave. I didn’t want to leave, but I did indeed leave.

Why are you different? Why don’t you operate like me?

Your visit here obviously impacts me daily. I take meds because of you. I shake because of you. My right hand assists my left hand because of you. I discovered my love for hiking because of you. I experience heightened self-doubt when I make a mistake (fearful my mind is slipping) because of you. I struggle as I type because of you. I have a bigger passion for life because of you, due to my fear of you being with me forever. I have a few new friends because of you. I’m writing again because of you.

I’m sharing my story about your visit because in my soul, my essence, my heart, my spirit, I know  . . . . . I struggle for the right words to express what I know. I know this is what I’m supposed to be doing – hmmmmm . . . . .  I don’t believe in ‘supposed to do’ anything. I guess I simply choose. I’m using my power of choice. I’m sharing my story about your visit because in my soul, my essence, my heart, my spirit, I choose to share my story – NO, that’s not right. In general, using the power of choice resonates with me BIG TIME, but not this time. This is different. This is simply a knowing, a certainty, a feeling I have – to express and share. I’m going with it. This is new to me. I think I like it.

I like the reflective time, thinking, and expressing.

I still don’t like you.

You have overstayed your welcome Penelope.

You have very bad manners.

You ought to leave when you’re asked to leave.

I’ll see you to the door Penelope.


With faith (and sometimes doubt, mostly doubt today),