Not for Wimps

Almost four o’clock. Charlie has left for the day and will be back in the morning. It’s been a good day, with sunshine and good vibes from people and a little music. I hazarded showing Dominic two of my blog posts. He looked rather stunned, and commented on their insightfulness. Said they touched him emotionally, and he envied me my ability. As we walked back to the agency from the hotel across the street, he seemed a little dazed. I spotted my taxi in the parking lot and knew I had to get going. Eric the cabbie was waiting for me in the lobby, but he said no sweat. We heard an obscure Rush track off of his cell phone on the way home: “Ghost of a Chance,” from 1991. Also a comparatively recent Bob Dylan song called “Trust Yourself.” On arrival at my house, Charlie was already working outside. He told me that my dog had been silent, and he feared that Aesop had escaped. But I checked and all good. I emailed my friend from where I sat on the loveseat with a view of the sunshine through the glass door. The temperature outside rose to above 50 degrees after a morning that had felt bitter cold. I guess I started the day off right with a liter of Coca-Cola. Dominic grew thoughtful after I told him I had resolved to be out of the closet with the schizophrenia. He thought I was being contrary with Dr T—, who had demanded secrecy about it. Said it was human nature to rebel. In truth, I believe it was more than that. I’ve never been good at keeping secrets, plus I wanted to score a few goals for people with mental illness; to show the world what we can do in spite of the curse and the terrible stigma of schizophrenia, bipolar, obsessive compulsive disorder, and so on. Mental illness is no place for wimps. So now Dominic has more to think about, as do you, dear reader.

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