A short poem about that one word.
Few things are more ripe for charity than living with mental illness. I have to rely on so many other people, and 90% of the time, it's Campbell. And he's the one with cancer! But he wants to do it. And I need to let him carry me in the dark times...even if he's crippled too.
Or maybe I'm just telling you all of this to make me feel better. I'm not violent--I'm prone to yelling and occasionally punching walls or slamming doors. I'm not crazy--I'm emotionally unstable and unpredictable. ...Whispered words to a fractured mirror. But the real question is, have I accepted it?