When my psychiatrist diagnosed me at a tender age, he cried. He knew then I was damned, written off, and would incur the wrath of society. For many years, I would struggle with that diagnosis, shirking all ambition, but somehow, in my human spirit, hope was not extinguished.
The mind has to tell the body that there is no option of staying in bed and that it must make it to class and to work despite the 1,000 pound lead body suit. Thank you, Seraquil. The mind has to tell the brain to stop whispering thoughts of suicide because the heart is just about to give in. ...