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[ Short Form & Affirmations ]

A Personal Letter To Mental Illness;

Well, played Mental Illness, well played.  With your arsenal of stingers in your bag there are so many ways that you can bring a person to their knees.  I have tried having a service animal, she bites.  Which I say has been quite handy when I’ve wanted to be left alone or looked like an easy target while taking the bus.  You have me questioning my abilities throughout the day so that my mind feels like an old fashioned pachinko machine that half the pleasure was just to stand and watch your friends play, never getting a turn.  I never did drugs, my family can be so proud of me but in actuality that is all I did starting with Prozac at age 21 and now I’m up to 5 or so to continue the quality of my life raging on like a roller coaster.  I startle so easy thanks to you….well, I can’t entirely blame you can I as that was a product of 9/11 and losing all of the key male role models in my life the previous Summer back to back within 3 week intervals.  I did get enough college finished to get my CADC-I!!!  Aha!!!, Took my orals, the exam and have kept it current for 7 years.  An accomplishment.  I won’t let you take it from me.  I am currently working doing utilization reviews making $52,000 but I guess I got too cocky, I guess I knew things were going too well as I had a very sufficient plan to pay off my debt, finally start to take care of myself but you saw that coming….I got too close for you.  You sniffed my quality of life, smelled my running clothes, sweaty, my body more toned.  You noticed I was buying into the new wonderful commercial on television that promise a new you and barely any side effects.  And you know the part that really bites is that I have insurance, a major miracle, GOOD insurance.  I have been ritualistic at treating my depression, anxiety and bulimia.  And you have not let up for a second, I have taken myself out of work when I was close to the edge even at the berating of myself and my husband so that I would remain safe.  I did everything they tell you to do.  Everything I tell my patients to do and you still never for a second gave me a break.  Never.  I think I know how to handle everything, except I’m not telling a damn therapist my story one more time to be told, “You’ve been through a lot.”  I just don’t know how I will remain housed without moving home, starring in tiny nation or taking a job sleeping at a doggy day camp.  Housing eludes me, damn Google and all the rest of them came and made Venice the hip side of LA’s Blue Butterfly Reserved Marshland.  They are preparing for the rush of Silicon Beach like Steve Jobs being resurrected.  I wish he was so I could tell him L.A. is for the poor too, but EDD beat him to an app! If Section 8 housing exists it looks like Donald Trump already took that piece of the pie for himself because everything going up looks like fake fronts for filming more necessary shows like “Pretty Little Liars” or “Co-eds of Playa Vista del Rey-LMU Campus.”  Mr. Mental Illness, I used to try to embrace you so I wouldn’t be so sad and so tired all the time and wish I was dead so much of my life, since I was so little.  Then I would stand up to you and tell you to go screw yourself, that I would be the better person if I could overcome this and get just a few happy days.  And now, I really am sick…and it has nothing to do with you.  I’m not at work because I’m waiting for a brain CT scan for migraines, an ultrasound for my upper right quadrant to see why I had my first gallbladder attack last week.  And last but not least a colonoscopy to figure out where and why I’m bleeding.  You don’t get credit for any of those things, I wouldn’t let you have it anyways.  What makes me mad is what you have stolen from a beautiful, brilliant soul and that is her will to live.


**I am not actively suicidal.  I am just expressing my frustration to be physicially ill along with my mental illness and I do have a mental health professional to call if I’m suicidal. Thank you.