Ever since her mother was diagnosed with schizophrenia, she has been worried that she would face the same fate.

Caught up in the cycle.

Making up lies to hide her mother's erratic behavior.

Pretending and concealing, believing her own stories.

Everyone lies, everyone pretends not to see, so why shouldn't she?


Her lies delayed the inevitable.

She remembers her mother's episodes and how they consumed everything with their imminence.

There was never a certain moment, never a clean, clear day, never a chance to let her guard down.

She could not be herself in her own home, with her own mother, because she was always a suspect.

Still, she minded the gaps.  Cleaned up the messes.

Apologized for breathing and existing.

Escaped into her own mind when her mother lashed out.

Got lost in managing her extremes.

She didn't think she had a chance.

By expecting the worst, she felt a warped satisfaction when things went wrong.

She chose to condemn happiness, rather than welcome the vulnerability it required.

She expected that if life ever found her too content, something terrible would happen to bring her back down.

She survived by hurting herself before she could be hurt.

To love life is to love freedom and be brave.   That persistent knowing.

Imperishable, despite her efforts to ignore it.

Life feels like a tightrope, and then it feels like a trampoline.

She wants to hold on.  She wants to let go.

Remember and forget.

Every day there is something to release.

Old ideas and limitations.  Sickness and loyalty.

Harsh words from people who don't know what else to say or any other way to be.

The mania of her mother.  Her smell, her voice, her softness.

The disruption of the man she loved.

The letting go consumes her with its necessity.

How is she to function when every moment, every happening, has the potential for another disconnection, another goodbye?

She feels, she clings, she suffers.

She believes in grieving in advance.

Misfortune comes suddenly, without pretense, so she never dares to be too happy.

Happiness feels like disrespect when there is so much to be sad about.

And yet, she feels this hope, this pull, and she believes in it.

She feels hope, even when the earth is swallowing her up.

That must mean something.  She trusts it.

He told her once that she had this light and that she had taken that light and lit up places inside of him that he'd forgotten about.

Now she must do that for herself.


Previous Chapter  

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You just read a chapter from my first book, The Beautiful Disruption.  In honor of Mental Health Awareness Month, I am sharing most of the book here on the blog over the month of May in a series of blog posts.  You can start at the beginning and follow along here.   

Is blogging on your to-do list? Is taking your writing more seriously on your to-do list?   I'm teaching a Digital Storytellers Masterclass with Ashley Coleman on June 5.  Join us!   All the details are here.   xo
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