It was cooler here yesterday morning. I took the opportunity to go out and get my hair trimmed.
I got gas for my car, which I do about once per month. And then I went by the grocery store for a few things I forgot to pick up on Monday.
I go to Supercuts to get my hair cut. I just don’t see the point of paying more than $15 for a hair cut.
The woman who cut my hair last time was probably in her twenties.
We got to talking and she told me they’d just diagnosed her four year old son with bipolar disorder, though the doctors called it something else since the child is so young.
She told me that she has it as well. I could tell she felt guilt because her genes had dealt her child this blow.
She said she was raising him on her own. She told me how difficult it is for her when they kick him out of daycare because of his violent behavior. And she has to work to keep them afloat.
Can’t bring a violent child to work to worry over when you’re cutting hair. Poor kid. Poor mom.
Mental health care is just as important as any other type of health care. Because there is no quality of life unless there is treatment.
The “crazy” stigma still holds strong. There’s no escaping it.
I think back to when I was a kid. I know there were people in my family with mental illness, because I look back with adult eyes and see all the signs.
But no one, and I mean no one, would ever admit to such a thing.
It was another time. I do understand that. But those individuals were for the most part isolated and cast aside. Often hidden from view and ridiculed.
And it was not their fault.
But they paid dearly for something they were born with and could not escape.
Remember the Jack Nicholson movie, “One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest?” All those people roaming around the halls of a mental institution, looking dazed.
Cuckoo is just another word for crazy.
Mental illness is not something that can be controlled through will power. Any more than you can control something like diabetes with will power.
Sometimes I wonder about Abi.
She has gone back to her old habit of crying from the bedroom. It is a pitiful sound.
I tried your suggestions. I unplugged the pest deterrents. It didn’t appear to make any difference.
Maybe there’s a small insect I don’t see because she is in the bath tub furiously scratching away like she’s possessed.
But I know she can’t help it. And I love her so I try very hard to be patient.
I comfort her as best I can. Because that is just what you do for those you love.