Letter to a Teenage Manic-Depressive
by Marlee Abbott
There will be medication. Buckets of it,
white capsules banded like water snakes
in herpetological green, blue tablets
that melt under your tongue into acrid sludge,
yellow half-moons stamped with dosages rattling
around in plastic orange vials with childproof caps.
But one morning you will wake up early and feel
the squelch of sourdough between your fingers,
watch fresh loaves rise alongside the sun. Slather
a slice in butter and a sprinkle of coarse kosher salt;
when you bite into it, you will forgive your past
selves their transgressions, if only for a moment.
Someday you will be cooking a hearty soup filled with
fresh vegetables from the garden when someone you love
hands you a glass of wine they poured, or a joint they rolled,
or a steaming mug of tea they brewed just for you. You will
marvel at the ease with which contentment washes over you,
like stepping from a dark movie theater into the sun.
When your beloved offers to chop onions for you,
say yes. When your mother calls, answer the phone.
When you feel like your insides have been carved out
with an ice cream scoop, take a deep breath.
There is a future version of you looking back with
indulgence, with warm bread and inexhaustible mercy.
About the Author
Marlee Abbott is a writer and actor from South Florida. She received her BA in Creative Writing from the University of Miami. You can find her work published in The Write Launch.