Once I was fired from my job in Raleigh in 2004 and was in the height of mania, I had an unusual reaction. All I wanted to do was paint. It wasn’t merely a therapeutic exercise or escape, it was a visceral need to purge what was crying to get out. I think I completed… Read More Paint the Pain Away
The whole thing about being manic is that it’s fun, until it isn’t. The strength and speed of the outward spiral feeds on itself until the tether to reality is severed. The worst manic years are still a blur, and what I do remember I don’t always trust. However, I think the slow train wreck… Read More What, Me Fired?
“I’m sorry I made you bipolar.” Wait, what? My mother stood in the kitchen stoically wiping a dish that was already dry. I was stunned, and at quite a loss for words. I was already uncomfortable in this scene even without the abrupt confession. My mother’s house was so her: beautiful and unwelcoming. She had… Read More The Apology
My living room window was cracked just a little at first and I found the freezing air oddly soothing. In the winter of 2006 that’s where I stood, nineteen stories up with nowhere to go but down. It would have been so easy, too. I told myself it wouldn’t hurt, that it would be like… Read More Gone to the Dogs