Last week as I started interviewing for part-time positions, I considered taking down my blog, worried that I would be found out and that prospective employers would avoid hiring me, fearing the worse. We hear of nightmares on the news, of mentally ill who did not receive adequate treatment and did unthinkably violent things. My blog remains. I still am what my friend Jonathan calls a “dancing, naked muse.” Figuratively, of course.
I believe that I have a calling to inform, to write and speak (when and how I speak, I do not know) about what it is like to be mentally ill, what it is like to be very bright and seemingly capable, but struggling to cope. I see myself speaking publicly, but do not know how to do so, how to find my audience, my stage, my daïs.
For now, the most important role I serve is as mother to my thirteen-year-old son, who wants me at home afternoons, evenings and during the summer.