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7/3/2010 12:49:53 AM

James Burns
Posts: 2
Me, Myself, and I

“There are things that concern us,”
Consensed my “Selves” in earnest
““We” fear that “I” have succumbed to delusion”

“And after careful deliberation
It is with much hesitation
That we choose to delineate upon this confusion”

“Fact is your intuition
Is riddled with superstition
And your judgment leaves much to be desired”

“So you leave us no recourse
Don’t push us to use force”
It is then that the “I” was summarily fired

I exclaimed “By whose authority?”, Response, “Rule of majority”
“The “Myself” and the “Me,” (forthwith the “We”)
are experts in our field”

“And with much technique and time
And some forays into the sublime
The nature of your malady will be revealed”

“So to keep yourself from having a fit
Step back and just calm down a bit”
“We,” they said, “certainly have this under control”

“We swear this won’t hurt at all”
Then I felt my inhibitions fall
Still I said a prayer to God that He keep my soul

You know, fact is I do feel off axis
As evidenced by such parapraxis
As this prose that I, (or is it “Us”), seek to pen

And with my mind feeling numb
I finally chose to succumb
And allow the “Me” and the “Myself” to begin

And then came questions in a flurry
Answer, answer and please do hurry
Not one moment of respite did they give

They pushed and they prodded
With every “T” crossed and “I” dotted
My mind felt like it had gone through a sieve

And all this psychoanalysis
Is causing my mind paralysis
The questions, can you stop with the questions please

“Yes, oh yes indeed
I do believe we have what we need
To make an attempt to identify your unknown neuroses”

“Your, (Or “Our”), symptoms seem to intermit
And the fact that “You’re,” (“We’re”), a hypocrite
Tis no wonder we’re having such problems with diagnosis”

Then “I” had an idea so grand
To dispense with this at my own hand
A self-inflicted coup de grace would be my prognosis

So while the “Me” and the “Myself” squabbled
With courage newly cobbled
“I” spotted the dresser drawer and made my run

With fingers fiercely fumbling
Whilst they continued grumbling
“I” produced from the depths of the drawer a shiny gun

And now my life, though ill-fated
Was soon to be vindicated
This would affect us all equally the same

Would be no myself or me
No you, him, us, or we
But an inclusive all would be to blame

It took me a moment to figure
Out the safety on the trigger
Then “I,” (or “Us”), prepared to do the dirty deed

Then the barrel found my temple
And as it settled into the dimple
A still small voice did my “selves” choose to heed

Hence a moment of clarity
Harkened me to posterity
And I thought what a legacy to leave behind

“Can’t we all find a way
To save this miserable day
And avoid a broken body for someone to find”

And then deep within my soul
I felt and heard a simple drum roll
And the differing sides of me just subsided

And with my mind now as one
I worked to get this all undone
The whole business of this stuff I derided

And tis now true of fact
That I survived this ordeal intact
And lived to raise my face unto the sky

And here now as it ends
I find I’ve made good friends
With the “Me”, the “Myself,” and the “I”
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7/4/2010 6:38:25 AM

This is extremely long, but well worth the read for anyone who suffers from bipolar disease. It is interesting to see what others go through, I know just what you mean with all those 'selves' bickering. It's a bad place to be. I think this poem is just fine the way it is, I couldn't find anything to change. Catie
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