Speaking in Bones
“For months she’d be happy, funny, clever—a presence as vibrant as sunshine itself. Then, without warning, she’d retreat to her room. Sometimes to a faraway place. Harry and I would draw pictures at our little table, whisper in our beds at night. Where had she gone? Why? Would she come home?Doctors with differing degrees provided varying diagnoses. Bipolar. Schizobipolar. Schizoaffective. Disorder of the moment. Take your pick. Pick your meds. Lorazepam. Lithium. Lamotrigine.No drug ever worked ...for long. No treatment ever stuck. A cheerful breather, then the darkness would reclaim her. When I was a child, Mama’s mood swings frightened me. As an adult I’ve learned to cope. To accept. My mother is as stable as a skink on a skittle.When Mama was in her late fifties and emerging from a particularly murky plunge, I bought her a computer. I held little hope she’d find the cyberworld attractive but was desperate for something to occupy her mind. Something other than me.I walked her through the basics—email, word processing, spreadsheets, the Internet.MoreLess
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