Two months ago, I started taping scraps of paper with peoples’ names on them to my office walls. Yes, I am suffering mental illness, but I’m told it’s not the sort which often results in erratic redecorating. Continue reading
These pairs of words were the bane of my existence in fifth and sixth grades. Discerning the most representative relationship between two words seemed like a pointless, tedious, exhausting job. And yet, after so many worksheets got so ground into my psyche, I’m counting on the deep recesses of my mind to know what to do with the analogies I’m acting out today. Continue reading
Some days require double-strength stress relief tea. Continue reading
“The idea that every day is another opportunity to battle the constant barrage of thoughts that inform me of my every weakness both perceived and real, is often too overwhelming to contemplate and the TV – that always friendly source of absolutely brain free entertainment is an increasingly constant friend.” (cue emphatic “uh huh”-ing and encouraging-foot-stomping) – Katharine Welby
For me, tv is often a way to block out those damning voices Katharine talks about, and sometimes I think of it as a way to escape the unrelenting frustration that pops up like those rodents in Whack-A-Mole–I can just ignore them for awhile, let them all pop up unchecked, maybe they’ll even knock each other out with their incessant bubbling about. Continue reading
“How long, O Lord, how long?”
I wonder how long it is that my mind will be in this space, that my refrain will be from the second part of the third verse of psalm 6, “low long, O Lord, how long?” It feels like every day is the last one I can stand. Sometimes, I ask my husband to drive me home or I sit and stare at the wall, paralyzed. Psalm 6 gives voice to my frustration. I roll my eyes and pound at my pillow, I complain and cry about this disease that leaves me dumb, disorganized, addled. But I’m asking the wrong question. Continue reading
hope of things not seen 