No, don’t demonize yourself and, yeah, if you aren’t on some lousy urine test program, smoke some herb to relax... it can really be beneficial to soothe mind and body.

I don’t do hospitals any longer. Too many horror shows. I’ve been to the brink, where you are, and beyond the brink and I can so empathize with what you describe because I’ve been there, too. Just as your father is wary of mental illnesses, I had an evil, wicked stepmother who didn’t ‘believe’ in mental illnesses. Less than three years after her certain proclamation, she blew her brains out. I found hundreds of bottles of unopened antidepressants in her hidden drawer. She didn’t believe in mental illnesses, the stupid, stupid woman.

Hmm. I’m not certain of how to say this... but things can get better. I had to bottom out before rising up, I had to be wary of any help before accepting help, I had to put my blind trust into a man who I knew to be kind and honest and, yes, it took years and years but here I am. Not effing perfect, no, no, no, and I have minute-by-minute challenges, and I still **** up, still have symptoms that I need to handle (with the help of terrific meds!) and, yes, I’m always on one side or the other of depression/mania, but that’s me, that’s who I am.

Not sure, again, how to say this, and surely I’m just an old **** raving, but I had to love my symptoms before I could re-engage with daily life. Not a ‘love myself’ crap - just being okay with flying high and feeling like death, ya know? Tough to explain. I actually miss some of the symptoms, even knowing that I’m better off than not having those symptoms.

There was an exquisite depth of woe down in that dungeon - the thing that you describe: having your own personal hell is comforting in a queer way. It’s the grand hotel of your mind and you know the misery - the terror - of wandering the floors and halls before flinging yourself down, down into the downy depths of your bed seeking sleep and solace and finding nothing.

You’re scared? You do well to fear yourself. Sooner, I hope, rather than later, you need a fear ally. An old coot, a young therapist, a seasoned shrink, someone, someone, who can ride your fears beside you. A partner, yes, you need a partner. Not your father, no, someone (usually) outside of your present circle-jerk of acquaintances. A maintenance man or woman. Ya ain’t broken, yet, but, friend, ya need some maintenance.

**** me. As similar as our shoes may be (joke - I have no legs, no need of shoes!) every, everyone trods a unique and horrifying path. I still struggle in my attempt to get into the minds of folks over internet wires and fiber and whatever. You describe your feelings well, though, and some of us .respond with a zippy affirmation having felt similar challenges.

One last thing. We’re all ****ed-up. Some of us more than others and, crimeny, it seems that the brighter you are the more likely you are to receive the gifts of Particular & Peculiar Illnesses: the more likely you are to dance with the devil and to require exorcism of demons. No, you are not one nor ten nor a legion of demons, not you. I thought myself responsible for Every Bad Thing - plagues, earthquakes, global warming, the failure to convert the Jews, the gum on the sidewalk, &etc. But there are things that are beyond my (grandiose) control. Yours, too.

Friend, get well, get better, do what you can and seek tenuous help now, more engaged help, later. I love you because you’re a fear-filled fearless human being and that, DT, is what is actually rarer than radium.