My husband Paul suffering from untreated bi-polar disorder locked me out of the house, the day that I woke up crying. I had cried over the loss of my mother, whose funeral I could not attend that week, due to the bad weather conditions, the location being such a great distance away, not having enough notice to book a flight that didn't require three stopovers (some five hours long), that would even get me there on time, the cost of flights, hotel, and rental car being too great, and my grief being much too intense to go alone on such a journey, where I wasn't sure that I was welcomed by my mother's husband. My husband Paul either awoke in this manic state or he had never slept. I didn't know. He didn't seem to recall ever telling me to leave. He knew that he had locked me out of our house in anger, after seeing me drive away in the car. He decided that I left because I couldn't take him telling me to do the dishes, while I was grieving. I know the truth and poetry sets me free. More poetry will follow, as the ordeal unfolds.
