The chemical imbalance in 1973 didn’t shake the world, but my brain sure thought it had a wild party! I searched for a fuse to fix what was broken, but all I found were sparks and confusion. The battle for sanity began—who or what had done this? I was kind and a bit dippy-doo-dah. I mean, I was fourteen, about to hit fifteen—a lovely age, right? One minute I was daydreaming, and the next, thoughts of pushing some folks from life’s platform popped into my head! Talk about an upgrade from “teen angst” to “might need a helmet!”
Trying to explain it felt like telling a cat that it couldn’t chase a laser pointer—nobody would get it, and I was scared that a steel cage would be my prize if I did. So I often just sat there, head down, wrestling with myself. If I felt well enough, I’d dodge into survival mode, underperforming like a player who forgot they were on stage.
Functional alcoholic? Check! I was like a walking sitcom but with a laugh track that forgot to play. “How could this happen to the genuinely happy person I was?” I mean, surely it must’ve been witchcraft—right? Or maybe the local pub landlord was right; voodoo was in full swing! I kept trying to reach out, but the advice was always to stop thinking about myself. As if shoving all my feelings under the rug would somehow make them disappear!
Then came the heart-wrenching twist: I lost my mother. She’s gone, and honestly, it hasn’t sunk in yet. Probably just trying to reach the other side with Dad, where the Wi-Fi is stronger! If she could send a message, she would say, “I love you,” and believe me, it’s more than just a word. I’m lost, oh God, I’m really lost, and I don’t quite know how to find my way back. But I miss you terribly and wish you were here with me, sharing a laugh and maybe some of Mom’s legendary cookies!
