Letter to 2012 Luis 

Know it all bastard. Oh how much you love to remind me. Depression and anti-psychotic medications. One. Two. That’s the right balance. Your brain chemistry. It. It isn’t quite right. Damn you! You remind me of days without pills. Of day without issues and issues and issues. Of days without too much alcohol or weed. You remind me of pre-diagnosis. Jesus fucking … you remind me of normalcy. Deep breaths Luis. Deep, meaningful, lung exploding inhalations. Paradise. Think of paradise. You remind me of normalcy you overly confident, ignorant, oblivious bastard. Damn you! I hate you. I love you. I hate you. I love you. Fuck, I’m confused. When I look in the mirror I see bits and pieces of you. I see confusion and rebellion. You want freedom. You want a pill free life. But Luis. Luis, you have bipolar disorder. You need medication. You need balance. Your chemistry. Your chemistry is off. There’s an imbalance. FUCK. There’s an imbalance, don’t you understand. There’s nothing wrong with you but jeez you need aid. You need assistance. You need some help from pills that make you well functional. That make you well yourself. Luis. Baby, baby boy, you got this. You’re strong now. Damn, if you could look into the future. If you could taste 2017 in the air. You’re fine. You’re good. Deadass. You’re doing well. I’m just writing to let you know. Don’t forget why you’re doing what you’re doing. You beautiful soul. You happy soul. You’re soulful, like Bootsy Collins. Baby, you’re a James Brown man. A soulllllllll train of a human. Heaven to Betsy, you are magnanimous. You are beyond beautiful. You’re. You’re writing this right now. Five years in the future. You’re a gem. Never forget. P.S. you got this. Don’t sweat the technique. Don’t stress it.


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