We may not all have tails (‘cept tail bone injuries are super painful, and I should know — having fallen at the playground when I was about nine and jumped at the tot lot next to the community center swimming pool in the Valley).
Even though tails ain’t the rage of our species, it’s the tale of our struggles with achieving success, wisdom, and gainful endeavors that makes our time on earth so fruitful and full of abundance, or so I like to tell myself when it’s troubling and I wind up falling on my face and seemingly landing in a pile of you-know-what as a result of my stubborn pride.
This is all in reference to my resistance to medication up until recently. I had another trip to the crisis house, from which I returned about a month ago. My husband and I had a falling out and stopped visiting with each other, and I was feeling about two feet tall at times and then believing I had god-like powers at others. Such are the ups and the downs of my sickness.
I’m on target in terms of equilibrium, and I’m managing to do as my old therapist, Jane Morris, recommended: do something for myself that isn’t a pill. It’s a lighthearted double meaning, which is okay in my book.