Documenting my journey through the mental health system

I am ahead of schedule in my grad school studies. I’ve written and read a lot, mostly.

My mind is otherwise blank. I’ve thought of everything and nothing. I reordered my meds. The bursts of energy followed by sluggish melancholy adds a bizarre dimension to everyday existence.

My back itches and tingles. It is healing from the tattoo my long-time friend designed to cover up his very first attempt at a tattoo about 15 years ago. Back then was long before his degree and before he became established as a premiere tattoo artist. Now he is finishing what he started and designed a badass gothic cross with a skeleton worked into the intricate filigree. The linework and some of the interior is done but I have to go back next month for the rest. Even my mother said I have to get all my tattoos touched up before the cruise.

That is the ultimate goal. There are other smaller goals running simultaneously – maintain equilibrium in grad school, don’t miss work, keep my house clean. But that cruise on which I’ve made a few payments is the little bit of light at the end of this tube. Yeah, it’s a tube. A tube I squeeze and fight to get through. Life is much like those rectal tubes I see in my patients occasionally. Pressed and strained.