Just Another Bi-Polar Monday

I have Bi-polar disorder. Or Manic Depression as Jimmi Hendrix referred to it. And take it from Jimmi, it's a frustrating mess. Or take it from me, it's the misadventure of a life time. I'll refer to myself as Harris Tweed to keep things relatively anonymous. Harris Tweed was-of course-one of the 'Daves' from a Dr. Seus book that... nevermind.

When you get sick for the fist time (as some of you may know) a whole new world of words and people begin to self apply to you. You learn about mania-something you never really considered, about therapists-people you know you don't need and you learn about medication-good drugs you can't say no to. It's humiliating, horrifying, and grim. But it's not an end. It's a just a change (thought I was going to say it's a beginning, eh?) I suppose it's that too, but I never saw the credits from before this nightmare. Sound about right?

I don't know about you, but I didn't see any of this coming. I wasn't abused as a kid. I was fond of my parents and most of my gripes with the universe was all the kind of stuff that I thought it deserved. But enough about me. What about my therapist?