Bipolar Explorer



Sometimes He Lost His Way

Bipolar Explorer
Michael Serafin-Wells


Sometimes, often, he lost his way.

For a time, there was drink, in which he found no real solace but led him to further despair and sometimes danger.

“I’ll die all over again,” she tried to say to him, “if you just give up.”

But in these moments, when he needed most to, he simply couldn’t hear her. Even so, she would never leave him. Her heart was too stout, her soul too intrepid, her love too courageous for that.

As he wandered the streets in drunkenness and self-loathing she followed him, pulled at his hand as the headlights of a cab flashed by running a stop sign. As he waited for a subway train, standing perilously close to tracks, she stood guard, unseen and un-sensed, guiding him over the gap and into the deserted late-night car.

Huddled against the wall, the tears coming again, he asked to be taken. But she spoke to him, softly and purposefully.

“No,”, she said. “No, my love. Not yet.”

He thought he heard her and so he answered, “But when? And how will I know it is my time?”

She sat with him on the small seat he’d crumpled himself into. “You will know. I will tell you. I will come and collect you, sweetheart. But not just yet.”

He had a far away look and she wasn’t sure she’d reached him. As he staggered out at the next stop and down the platform toward the exit to the street, she followed, concerned and vigilant, prodding him home until he fell safely, if sadly, into bed.

His sleep was restless, tortured, but she remained…