I wanted to get this posted earlier today, but didn’t like the angle. I’ve written this post no less than half a dozen times, since the shooting at The Mall in Columbia. I decided to go with a short story. After reading it let’s open up the dialogue on mental illness. I know it’s a hard topic to talk about, but must be done.
I’m so glad the holidays are over. I hate them. They make feel even worse. Everyone is always looking to see what crazy looks like. Inside I laugh because they look crazy looking for crazy. Uncle Fred’s eyes bug out as soon as he sees me. Cousin Miranda looks at me like I’m about to explode. Cousin Aiden walks on egg shells, like I’m about to crack at any moment. Then there’s mom and dad. Mom hushes anyone who mentions the word crazy no matter the context and dad just gives people the stink eye. Well, the holidays are over and I’m still crazy.
I took my journal to the therapist. The therapist that no one knows I see. Dr. Continue reading