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 …
Suffering
Carry Me to Jesus: When We’re the Answer to Someone’s Prayers
I fell out of a chair and re-injured my ankle. The same ankle that’s been giving me grief for years and often flares up, leaving me limping and in pain. Let’s not discuss how it’s even possible to fall out of a chair while sitting. I’d like to think I have the grace and agility of a jungle cat but my kids have informed me it’s more akin to one of those fainting goats whose muscles freeze when in a state of stress resulting in them dropping straight to the ground with their helpless legs …
Outrage Fatigue and Leaping the Divide
I picked the wrong weekend to return to Facebook. It’s no secret, I have a small capacity for the constant churning machine that social media often is. Most days, it’s loud enough in my own head without adding voices of dissent and dissatisfaction muddying up my synapses. I suppose this is one right of the mentally ill. The removal of oneself from the entanglements of being ever present, ever vigilant, and ever available is self-care at it’s highest form. Maybe that’s true for everyone but …
