Jan 10, 2005 09:11
The debt I owe my pyschiatrist is beyond description. I remember sitting in his office a hundred times during those grim months and each time thinking, What on earth can he say that will make me feel better or keep me alive? Well, there never was anything he could say, that's the funny thing. It was all the stupid, desperately optimistic, condescending things he didn't say that kept me alive; all the compassion and warmth I felt from him that could not have been said; all the intelligence, competence, and time he put into it; his granite belief that mine was a life worth living.
Kay Redfield Jamison
An Unquiet Mind
I have found that there is little I can do here to address my problems, not because they center around Pomona, as I had previously thought, but because I can't do this in the incredible solitude here at my family's house in Kenmore. I go back to Pomona on Thursday, where there might be support, friends - other people. I will look for help there.