There was a time, maybe 15 years ago, I told you I was having some mental issues like anxiety, panic; I felt like I couldn't control my brain. I was scared to go outside and I couldn't find a job. You told me that if I was really in trouble then I would have a job already. I guess your advice helped for the time being. I pulled it together and got a job. You told me that Dave has anxiety but he hides it. I thought to tell you, "if you can hide it then it isn't that bad," but people get tired of trying to explain. I held my tongue.

At the time my emotions were out of control. I was having rage, panic attacks and depression swinging this way and that. I had other weird, kaleidoscopic... stuff. I felt like my own home was unfamiliar and I was in a daze. There were some hallucinations, little stuff, like I would hear the phone ringing when it wasn't ringing. I would observe the hallucinations to try to learn the difference between what was real and what wasn't. I saw images of blood and death in my mind's eye, and I don't know why. I watched myself doing and saying things when I was not in control. I was really scared, Mom. But it got better eventually, a little bit better. When N. was born it gave me something to live for and I almost felt cured.

The residue remains. I remember things, feelings mostly. Fragments. I remember things that cracked my soul in half, a loneliness so deep it hurts my body. I am helpless and despair. It doesn't occur to me that I can get up and seek what I need, because I can't. I can only wail and cry. I am punished for crying. That first crack, it can crack again, and again. I think you won't believe me if I tell you the truth of my condition.