the beast, rewritten

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I wrote a short story about mental illness, a while ago. But I wrote around the truth. Because for me to write about mental illness is to put but a grain of sand onto a beach full of definitions, experiences, and ramifications.

What is my true feeling?  Beyond just mentioning statistics? Truly I do feel there is a stigma about that monstrous, ungainly beach of sand. A stigma whose undercurrents cry, “Thank God I’m normal!” This is heard from those not plagued with chemical imbalance. Because the imbalance is so much more than chemical. It’s made from nature, nurture, and the society in which we live.

And as complicated as people are, there is no understanding for those that err in whatever egregious or minor way. So families help. Support of any kind helps. Acceptance, if not understanding, helps. Keeping on medication helps. Having a therapist; even a psychiatrist, helps.

I say let’s try less to quarantine that beach of pains and misunderstandings.

“Chin up, all! WE can surmount this!”

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