It’s the black dog again. When I broke years of estrangement from my mother I discovered bipolar disorder runs in my family. Until then I had refused to accept my diagnosis. On the face of it, I agreed with the doctors and for the most part I was compliant with treatment, if only to keep … Continue reading Je suis bipolaire. Le chien noir.
Though I had not believed in His existence since my youth of hymns and Sunday school, God began to talk to me, first in a whisper and later, in loud, threatening tones. My father spoke to me, too. Sometimes his presence was invisible, but sometimes I would see him sitting at the end of my bed, seemingly looking straight through me with his eyes, ice blue. It would be the first of many psychoses.