Saturday, December 17, 2016


I wish more people would just say it: “wow.” I can tell when people are surprised that I spent a twenty day stint in inpatient. There is a lack of grace in their lack of response. Some people are better than others at masking reaction. But everyone has a reaction—don’t deny it.

A counselor once said it: “wow.” I respected her so much for it. No. Respect. I still do. Yes, wow. Eight days in, ten days out, twenty days in. Yes, wow. A whirlwind.

Sure, people are hospitalized for longer periods of time. If it isn’t a wow to you, then react accordingly. But if it is, I won’t be offended. Say wow. I can take it. Be honest with yourself and me. If that’s shocking, let both of us know. It will only become acceptable if you can admit that it doesn’t fit into your box of normalcy. That it is a wow. Admit to where you are now so you can walk with me to where I’m trying to go: to where twenty-eight days of thirty-eight days is not just shocking—it’s acceptable, it’s necessary, it’s reality.

Sunday, December 4, 2016

Poorly Adjusted

Sometimes I think about what I’ll take to the hospital. It’s not that I plan on going or think I’m in need of a higher level of care; it’s that I know I’ll go back someday.

I hate the fickleness of mood that is bipolar II. From hypomania to low-grade depression to thick depression leading to increased mood-stabilizers and then a random, functional day.

I know. That random day is one to be appreciated. For which to be grateful.

That day is today. But I don’t trust it. I am too well accustomed to change to appreciate stability. Well accustomed. Ha. One cannot be “used to it.” I warily expect change yet am smashed by its wave every time, as if I am standing foolishly with my back to the ocean.

I fear tomorrow. I fear that tomorrow will be back deep in the throes of depression and all the worse for today’s normalcy. I feel that I am functioning too highly to be truly on the mend. It must be a fluke. It can’t be hypomania. But health? No. Be realistic.

Should. I should go on a walk so long as I have the energy to do so. Should not. I should not feel like crying. Should. I should be grateful. For so many reasons, but for today in particular.


I don’t care if someday I have clients and they’ll be helped by having a therapist who has suffered, who “gets it.” I don’t. I didn’t sign up for “wounded healer” status. I don’t care that it’s writing material.

I know. No one signed up for it. No one wants it. It’s not okay. And it’s acceptable to be not okay—in an ideal world, anyway. But I’m not so well adjusted as to be okay with it in myself.