I hold the small red pill between my thumb and forefinger. It’s miniscule. Maybe a third the size of a breath mint. I’ve already taken my antidepressant faithfully, as I always do. I habitually gulp down the rest of my pills but this one I take last, because it’s so small. There was the time it slid silently from my palm as I tossed the pills into my mouth and it was only the next day I realized I must have missed my dose. You’re not supposed to skip a day when you’re on antipsychotics. But …
Depression
Bipolar is a Riptide: Breathing Lessons
I’ve written before that ~I write like a woman drowning. I write with a desperation to know and be known, to understand God, to see glory. I write to breathe again.~ I’ve been breathless lately. Mental illness is a riptide on otherwise calm shores. It is the pull of deep waters lulling you further and further from safe and sturdy ground, all at once weightless and buoyant, caressed by the lapping tides. It invites you to surrender, to be carried away in the vastness of the sea. To be small and …
I’ll Sit With You: An Incourage Post
We’re sitting in the glow of neon, the golden arches casting pale yellow and red on the wet asphalt where we’re parked. I’m sipping iced tea even thought it’s cold and we’re clutched by winter's deep spell, flurries scattering around outside haphazardly lacking the stamina to collect themselves on the ground. The windshield wiper swipes at them randomly streaking the window with frost. I’ve pulled my hat down low over my unwashed hair and my arms wrap across me as if my embrace could …
