Grief is not linear, nor is it universal.
I am not my diagnosis. I am able.
I end up juggling multiple projects, with my mind racing and jumping all over the place.
Now that my parents are both in memory care and not able to join us, I miss them. Sounds odd, but even alcoholic families can be loving.
When I focused on my thoughts, I could not hear the noise.
Living with bipolar is like walking on a tightrope, trying to maintain my balance, fearful of each step I take.
Take care of yourself.
Tonight, I am grateful.
Kitt’s invented platitudes.
When the words fly, they are raucous.
My psychiatrist has asked me numerous times how my sister has handled my parents differently than I have?
I don’t see the point in cleaning because I feel so overwhelmed and buried by the chaos.
I am my Mother, but with one major difference. I got help.
It’s been a year since my mother was verbal. It’s been a year since she could use language.
I think in monologues that I want to share.
I cannot control my father’s health.