The Recovered Nutjob.
I’m medicated. I’m now a happy, patient, goal-achieving, healthy person who cannot write a goddamn thing.
I wonder if I was a better conversationalist when I was crazy:
(I was a people-pleaser back then.)
I anticipated every word and, in turn, had perfect compliments and antidotes at the ready.
Bad days were, of course, bad – fifty apologies that led into the pacing hours of 3 am.
I’ve read that insanity is linked with all the greats – some even nurturing their madness into personal extinction.
My children, two lively and wild girls, love me, and I love them – almost as much as I need to scratch out a line or two.
Consequently, I take the white oval pills, the round-cornered pill, and a grey supplement that makes my brain translate happiness.
I smile and move forward in my recovery-
pleasing my therapist and psychiatrist.
“She’s doing well.”
“She has achieved-”
I am copied on their notes and find my jaw hurts after I read them.
I mourn the nutjob while I hum happily.
You’re a people pleasing perfectionist too? 😁 You’re post made me smile.
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