Non-Covid blues, maybe

On Monday, December 5th, my dad came home from cataract surgery with a fever. He also had a cough, which my mom soon caught. His COVID test that night was negative. By Wednesday, I had a sore throat. Thursday, a cough. Friday, a fever of 103. My COVID test was negative. I had a telehealth appointment with my primary care doctor the same day over Zoom. Doc prescribed antibiotics and something for the cough and told me to retake the COVID test in 2 days.

When I retook the test on Sunday, I was positive for COVID. Since I hardly go out, I knew the only way I’d ever get COVID is if my parents brought it home. The fever was gone on the third day, but I had a mild cough and sore throat, felt very tired, and felt like my brain was in a fog for several days after and persisting for about a month. My symptoms were mild, but I still felt pretty awful. It’s hard to describe. I had a lot of anxiety during that time.

I also developed a skin rash which I thought might be due to COVID, but my doctor couldn’t tell me for sure what was causing it. It looked like little red bumps spreading on my stomach and abdomen. My doctor thought it was allergies. I wondered if maybe my mood stabilizer, Lamictal, an anti-seizure med that is also used to treat bipolar disorder, was causing it. I called my psychiatrist, left a voice message, and received a call back from his office recommending I stop the Lamictal and schedule an appointment sooner than my routine follow-up.

This is why I’m currently not on any psych meds except Ativan for anxiety. I’ve been having trouble sleeping for weeks. When I stopped the Lamictal, my mood was initially pretty good. I was feeling more social and talkative. But not the talkative that we associate with bipolar disorder. I didn’t have rapid pressured speech. I think it was the COVID brain fog, where I was feeling less inhibited and loopy, like I drunk and having memory lapses. It was weird.

About five or six days ago though, I had some racing thoughts which didn’t last long but enough to concern me. Since then, I’ve been moody. No high highs, mostly lows. Return to baseline then back to low. Feeling disinterested in things. Even WoW is boring. But idk if that’s a mood thing. Raid tanking got boring very fast, and tanking m+ is still my favorite thing, but sometimes it feels like what does it matter. Like nothing matters. I’m falling asleep late and waking up too early. I can’t stop thinking. But my thoughts aren’t racing atm.

When I saw my psychiatrist on Zoom last month, I was feeling okay. A little weird from COVID, but no symptoms to report except the anxiety. So, he decided not to start me on anything yet and see what happens. Well, what’s happening is I can’t sleep, and I can’t stop thinking, and I’m feeling down most of the time. My next appointment is end of March, and I realize this is a dismal entry, not a lot of energy in the writing, so I’m thinking of trying to get an appointment sooner. Thing is, I can’t seem to make that call because I don’t think my symptoms are bad enough and I can probably wait until then.

Still, I’m not sure. I want to sleep better, and I know sleeping meds are not gonna help much. I guess if I want to stop speculating, I gotta call my psychiatrist. LOL. Well, I’m feeling tired and sleepy again. Maybe this blog entry is boring enough.

I do have something or someone interesting in my life. Well, I think he’s interesting. It’s not exactly new. We’ve been talking for years, but recently reconnected. We’re keeping it chill, I guess, because long distance, the Internet, and reasons. We say we’ll just take it day by day, be friends, and have fun and not make it more or too much. Right. It’s not complicated at all. It’s not like he’s in my thoughts everyday /rollseyesatself

I have a lot of thoughts, and I’m probably rambling. I’m gonna try to go back to sleep.

2022 May Manuscript (and new dog) Update

I haven’t finished it yet. I’d rather write it well than write it faster. And I’m learning more and more about what matters to me as I write it. Every hitch in the manuscript causes me to pause and reflect on what I want to say. What and whose story am I really trying to tell.

It isn’t so much about the plot anymore. It’s about who these people are. What is it about their characters that determines how they react to what happens in the story. Since I write about trauma, I have to set the right tone. Humorous but with dignity and respect.

I might be writing a romance, but I think my characters are bigger and more human than the romance novel tropes that would box them in. I hope they are more dimensional. There might not be space in the novel to develop secondary characters fully. I’m sure I’ll make mistakes, and the finished product won’t be perfect.

But if the reader is interested enough in the characters, if they’re hooked on the story, and emotionally invested, the imperfections won’t matter that much. As long as the characters and their story are authentic, and I tell the right story, it should be fine, I hope. LOL.

I was really arrogant when I was growing up. I used to think I would be a great writer. Now, I just want to be a good one. And finish this novel sometime soon. This year would be nice.

Though I have been distracted with video games, namely Lost Ark… when my head is a mess and it’s too hard to write and my parents are getting on my nerves, that’s my go-to outlet and escape.

Also, we got another dog. A Yorkie-Mini Schnauzer mix. It was my parents’ idea. My aunt found a stray dog under her car and took the dog home instead of taking the dog to the shelter or something. She offered the dog to my parents, who agreed to take him in. I told my mom it’d be too hard to train another dog. I should have held my ground, but he looked cute in the picture and my parents had already committed. I DID NOT ASK FOR ANOTHER DOG.

But I was also kind of sad because my real dog didn’t sleep in my room anymore but in my mom’s room with the other chihuahua. So, my parents wanted to give the dog to me. Which was really a poor decision because I don’t know how to train a dog. They always complain about how I can’t take care of my pets. We didn’t even know if the dogs would get along.

When they brought the dog home and I saw how active he was, I knew I wouldn’t be able to take care of him properly. First, it is tiring and stressful. Second, I don’t have the patience and time to train a dog, and it is tiring and stressful. Third, DO THEY EVEN KNOW ME? DO THEY SEE ME? Shouldn’t they know that I can’t take care of a dog?

I told my psychiatrist, how could they expect me to take care of and train a new dog who is very active and runs all around the garden and digs up stuff in the garden, which pisses off my parents tremendously, when I can barely take care of myself? I AM DISABLED FOR FUCK’S SAKE.

OMG, I was so pissed and frustrated and stressed out. I was also very resentful of my parents for forcing me to take the dog. Sometimes, I get so stressed and feel so helpless and powerless and depressed I can’t stop crying. And sometimes my anxiety is so bad I can’t relax for days. It’s like forcing someone to have a kid they don’t want and don’t have the skills and will to take care of.

But the dog was so pitiful and wants to be loved because he was living on the fucking streets. He was skinny and malnourished and even had worms. That’s right. TAPEWORMS. Sigh. It’s too funny sometimes. I mean, of all the weirdest things that could happen to me.

I just want to know WHAT IS WRONG WITH MY PARENTS. They probably mean well. They think a dog will be good for me. But what I really want is to not be chronically in pain. And sometimes, I can’t wait until this is all over. Finish my book and write and publish a few more and leave something behind before I go.

And that’s pretty much it. Say what I need to say about what I have learned about and wish for in life. When I need a break, I play video games. You know, I thought I was going to be lonely when I quit WoW. But man, I’m so busy with writing and all the little but huge dramas at home.

I’ll be fifty in a couple of years. I can’t imagine living another 30 years like this. The pain will most likely get worse, my eyesight has gotten worse in the past five years too. Maybe things will change after I get published. Who knows how big my book will be.

But I have a mental illness, and I don’t trust my judgment sometimes. And that’s why I try harder to get it right, no matter how long it takes.

1 Word: Dirty

I’ve been writing down the words I hear in my head, but they don’t get me too far. I think it’s because I can’t see the finish line. If I don’t know where I’m going, how can I get there? But writing anything is still good for me. My head hasn’t been in writing mode for a long time, and I need the practice. Anyway, here’s a short piece going nowhere that I wrote last night. Everything after the last sentence started to feel heavy and overwhelming, there was no action, so I stopped. The word I kept hearing in my head was “dirty.”

# # #

Dirty

When Lena stepped into her parents’ house for the first time in six months, she felt dirty. Dirty like her stretch denim jeans and leather bomber jacket after she had knelt and lain and stumbled in the Pit at her high school graduation after party. Dirty like her mouth on all the boys she hadn’t loved before. Like the desk in her college dorm room where an ashtray and beer bottles instead of readers and term papers had taken residence. Dirty like the burnt-orange carpet at the psych ward.

She stared at the snowy white carpet on the stairs she climbed to her old room. Her parents had spoken to her before she went upstairs but she couldn’t remember what they had said. Her mind was so foggy from her psych meds that the moment had slipped away like an alcohol-induced blackout.

But she couldn’t forget her father’s denial at the family meeting in the psych ward. “Filipinos don’t get depression!” And then, he had told her, her case worker, and her psychiatrist that she needed to find God. When her mother found out she had purchased a gun, her mother had nearly fainted. She said she intended to be happy, and had walked out of the meeting room.

To be fair, her mother had tried.

# # #

Trauma & Fake News

So, my dad thinks that this New York Times article is fake news, promoted by Democrats, and that the experts are Democrats, too, criticizing Trump and making stuff up. FML. I don’t even think he read the whole article. It makes me so sad and angry and upset that some smart people can’t see the truth. It makes me want to scream and throw things and break things. I really don’t get it. I have to try so hard to suppress my feelings so I won’t see red or cry whenever my dad starts talking about Trump and Democrats and taking Trump’s side. I just wish he wouldn’t talk to me at all about anything that has to do with Trump, and I have told him many times not to talk to me about anything political!!! My mom has told him not to talk politics with me because we start fighting and it stresses her out. I can’t help it. It’s like toxic to me and I feel like I have to fight back and I end up screaming at my dad because he won’t listen. I just get really triggered, it’s such a bad cycle. My mom thinks I need to change my behavior and be more respectful but I feel like my dad isn’t respecting my boundaries. He knows I don’t want to talk about politics and Trump and Democrats with him, and yet, he keeps doing it. I try really hard to not feel anything. And sometimes it works. And sometimes it makes me feel depressed. Some people will think this is not a big deal, just ignore him. My parents love me, I should be more grateful, and just let things go. But I have a long history with my parents regarding boundaries and other things, and some things haven’t changed. And it’s really really hard with my psychiatric history and lived experience. Sometimes, it feels like I’m forever a 15-year-old, isolating in my room, avoiding my parents, traumatized over and over again.

Eternally Fifteen

Sigh. I am so emotionally immature. I have however learned something about me and my mom. Whenever she gets mad at me or I hurt her feelings and she starts giving me the silent treatment, the best way to make her feel better is to give her a hug and apologize for whatever it is, no matter who is right or wrong or who started it. What I feel doesn’t really matter, because it sucks when my mom is mad, not talking to me, passive-aggressively silently clamoring to everyone in the house how unhappy she is.

I am pretty dependent on my parents for things like food and the daily things we need to survive, and also help with watching the dogs when I don’t feel good. So, I can’t have her being mad at me and giving me the silent treatment for days. Yesterday, I was eating and my dog came to me begging for food, but I didn’t give him any of my food because it was hella salty, and if I didn’t think it was healthy for me it probably wouldn’t be healthy for him either. And then, my mom sits down beside me eating some bread and proceeds to give the dogs bites of her bread. And I just got a bit enraged and left the room before I blew up and said something that would make her mad. But I couldn’t stop thinking about it, so later I tried to tell my mom I didn’t like it that she fed my dog when I was eating especially after I refused to give him any human food that wasn’t in his bowl.

And this morning I find out that my mom was upset because I had yelled at her. I am pretty sure I didn’t yell at her. I was clearly angry though. But wtf really. She knows I don’t like it when my parents feed the dogs when they’re begging like that. But my parents do it anyway. At least, put the food in their bowls. Sigh. My parents yell at me all the time. And they yell at each other all the time. Idk why my mom acts like she’s a victim. She’s really good at making me feel bad. It’s exhausting. I feel like I have to try so hard to be nice to my parents and get along with them. My parents are gonna do whatever they want no matter what. Because they’re the parents and I’m the child and I’m supposed to be respectful not the other way around. But in the end saying sorry and making up with mom makes everything and everyone else feel better. Until the next time we argue again…

Good Morning, 2020

So, I have this goal to write a little bit everyday. I’m a writer, but I’m not being a writer, or I haven’t been a writer for the past few years. Not writing doesn’t make me feel productive. Useful. Purposeful. When I’m not writing, creating, I basically feel like there’s no reason for me to be here. It’s frustrating how hard it’s been to write lately. It’s been so hard to express myself. I don’t know if it’s the psych meds, or if it’s the illness, but it sucks. I have ideas; I just have a hard time writing them in a way that makes sense to me. Especially when I think about my past and the things I want to say about my past. Everything gets jumbled up in my head. Writing used to be easier. I think living at home makes it harder for me to write, because it’s overall more difficult to be myself here. I can’t be myself around my parents. I feel like I’m always holding things in. I can’t scream or cry when I’m angry or sad, when they do something that makes me feel really discouraged about my life. I’m grateful that my mom got us another puppy, she let me choose which one and said the second one was for me. Because she’s all concerned about me being alone when they are out of town and when they go on their vacations and trips. But I have all this back pain and my knee hurts and I can’t be all active and playing with the dog and being with him a lot in the daytime. During the day, the dogs are mostly downstairs playing or sleeping, and doing all the things dogs do, but my parents, especially my mom, are gonna be with them most of the time. They play and nap with her when she’s downstairs. I usually feed the dogs, and I come downstairs to see them or play with them and take them out to the garden, where I do my little walks. I get very confused and sad because the puppy really likes my mom too. She has a bigger personality than me, and she is all loving and affectionate with Liam. Both of my parents are very hyper and easily excitable and expressive. They also yell a lot at each other, like they don’t hold back their feelings at all. They don’t care if they’re polite to each other or not. (However, if I say something that’s not so polite, my mom will get mad at me, and probably give me the silent treatment and make me feel guilty.) Anyway, my mom is loud and very communicative with Liam, always petting him and telling him how much she loves him and acts very excited to see him. I am not like that at all. Neither is my brother. He came over with his wife and their dog during Christmas, and looking back, I realize just how soft-spoken and gentle he is, especially with Liam. He doesn’t raise his voice at his wife or dog, but he will be emphatic if their dog Cammie is misbehaving, and I did see him scold his wife a little, but he never raised his voice. Meanwhile, my parents are always shouting and so loud in the house. Anyway, my point is, I am an introvert, I have a hard time making friends, for a lot of reasons, one being that I never really learned how because my dad was in the Navy when I was growing up and we moved around a lot. I learned how to adapt to not keeping friends or expecting friendships to last or to expect anything from having friends and not feeling like I needed friends or wanted friends because I would just get sad when we moved again and then I would lose them. But now I am having a hard time dealing with these feelings I have for the puppy. I love my puppy. I like it when he sleeps in my room. Before, he used to sleep in the playpen, but now he can sleep in my bed, because he doesn’t have to pee or poop as often. He is very sweet and affectionate. But he’s not like my brother’s dog Cammie to who follows my brother’s wife everywhere. Cammie is really attached to Elsa. And I guess I wanted something like that. Where I had a dog that had really bonded with me. And loved me more than anyone else. But when I see how he is with my mom, I get sad and I get angry, because I wish my mom could have for once in her life let Liam be my dog. For once, maybe she could have restrained herself, had more control or something, instead she has to have everyone love her. She can’t stand it if people don’t like her or criticize her. And she really sucks with boundaries. I didn’t want my parents to feed the dogs when they’re begging at the table, because it would be hard to potty train them and all that. But they didn’t listen to me, and what can I do, since it’s their house and their money. But if Liam were my brother’s dog or his wife’s dog, would my mom treat Liam as if he were hers? It just makes me depressed sometimes. I don’t even feel comfortable here at home. I don’t hang out downstairs in the kitchen and TV area, unless I’m gonna eat. The couch is uncomfortable. I can’t hang out downstairs for too long before my back and knees start to bother me, and my parents and their personalities start to bother me. Not to mention, it’s my parents’ space, not mine. My things are upstairs, my room is my place, it stores my real self, my inner self, my inner life. It’s where I feel safe and comfortable. Maybe if I weren’t disabled, if I didn’t have this pain, I would be able to hold onto my dog’s affections more. My brother told me I should feed him treats more often, but Liam is very picky and anyway he likes the real people food my mom gives him more than treats. I don’t know what to do, I don’t like to stay downstairs I have nothing to do there and I don’t really enjoy interacting with my parents since they tend to stress me out, but mostly I just don’t want to feel this way. I don’t want to feel sad or angry, I don’t want to feel like I’m losing my dog. A while ago, we had a couple dogs that used to sleep in my mom’s room. The second dog was also supposed to be my dog, and she slept in my room for the first few nights until my mom started playing with her and bringing her to play in their room with their first dog. After that, my dog wouldn’t sleep in my room. I was a little sad at first, but I had more things going on in my life. I was working and more functional twenty years ago. I was also planning to leave home and go to grad school. And I had more friends. I used to go out more. Now, things are different. So, I rambled a lot in this blog post. I hope my writing improves. But my head is a mess right now. I think the hope was that when I had my puppy I would feel happier and more like life was worth living. I didn’t have expectations honestly, I think my mom is just really worried because she doesn’t want me to be alone when they go on vacation in February. So, why does she take my dog and why is she being so close to him? I get mad when she takes him into her room to nap with her and Choco. But it seems so immature of me. I feel like such a failure sometimes. I’m sorry to anyone who read this and wanted to hear things are going well for me or wanted to read something uplifting and positive. Like a Bipolar success story. I hope you are feeling better than I am and have a lot more social support and people who respect your boundaries and your emotional needs. And I hope you have a very Happy New Year indeed.

Opposite Action

Opposite Action is a DBT (Dialectical Behavioral Therapy) skill that can help you to regulate negative or distressful emotions. This skill helps you change your emotions by doing the opposite of what your emotions are leading you to do.

Yesterday, I was feeling all kinds of negative emotions. I was angry at my parents, mostly my mom, and sad that my life wasn’t the way I wanted it to be. My brother, his wife, and their dog are visiting until Sunday (though last night they stayed in LA, because my brother’s wife had a work meeting there).

Whenever my brother visits, my parents buy and make a lot of food. This time, my brother also brought back a box of macadamia cookies from Hawaii, where he and his wife had recently attended their friend’s wedding. Now, my mom keeps reminding me not to eat too much so I won’t gain weight.

I really do want to lose weight to alleviate the pain in my back and knees. I lost 5 lbs in the first 3 weeks going gluten-free. I have tried sticking to the diet but it is kinda hard, especially now with all the good food in the house. And my mom’s nagging doesn’t help.

Whenever my mom or dad irritates or angers me, I want to do something to get back at them indirectly. I turn that anger inward and do something that will hurt me, because I feel like neither arguing with them nor simply expressing my feelings will produce the result I want/need. Which is basically an understanding or an apology or a promise not to do it again.

Whenever my mom clucks at me to watch my eating or tells me I’m gaining weight again, I get so angry because it feels like she does this every freaking day. And not in a good helpful way either but in the critical tone she’s had since my childhood. (My parents don’t see me as a sensitive person, they see me as an over-reactive person.)

Luckily, because I’m also doing the intermittent fasting thing where I don’t eat after 5pm and before 8 or 9am, I can tell her confidently that I haven’t gained any weight. But it still irritates me that she seemingly watches my behavior like a hawk and repeats her endless advice on how to lose weight.

It’s like she’s trying to train me to behave a certain way, but her training style is pretty ineffective, because I don’t enjoy it. (This is probably why our dogs aren’t fully potty-trained either, because my mom insists on doing it her way which does not involve the treats-reward method. I however am trying.)

Anyway, now that my brother, his wife, and the cookies are here, and my parents are stressing me out so much for many reasons, my reaction, because I feel helpless and angry and rebellious, is to EAT THE DAMN GOOD COOKIES. The dark chocolate and white chocolate and coffee flavored macadamia cookies.

Needless to say, in 2006, I failed DBT therapy, and I still have awful coping skills. I should have taken out one of the DBT emotion regulation worksheets and identified my emotions, figured out what my emotions were leading me to do and what the opposite action would be, and do the opposite action instead of eating a bunch of sugar-loaded cookies that would be detrimental to my pain management goals. LOL.

For the past year, one of my favorite things to do when I’m feeling bad is to jump on the computer and kill monsters in WoW… for hours at a time… aggravating the arthritis pain in my back, which eventually caused my current knee pain. Of course, I can still go on the computer and play a video game, but I got to do a stretching exercise immediately after 45 mins or so.

I want to come up with other actions I can do to make me feel better inside. What’s the opposite action to eating a cookie whenever my mom makes me angry with her constant nagging? I need to do something a little more empowering or proactive than simply not eating the cookie. I need to do something that makes me feel better about being me rather than making me feel worse. It could be doing something as simple as exercise or… writing. Something that makes me feel independent, like my own person, something that comes from inside me, something I can call my own.

Clap

My parents have this new thing for their health. Clapping. In the morning. It is noisy and irritating AF. Maybe, it works for them. Maybe, it really is good for their health.

I am doing my best to ignore the TV when my dad is listening to Fox News downstairs. I try not to listen and just shut out the toxicity spewing from the TV. At least, he isn’t talking to me about politics, or my irritation would make my head hurt so much with pure rage.

When my dad talks politics with me, I understand what it means to see red. I hate talking in cliches or using cliches in my writing or reading cliched catchphrases because to me it just seems like the writer couldn’t think of an original way to express something. It’s very common in commercial fiction, since writers seem forced to write quickly and publish multiple books a year to have an income.

Well, my parents love me, and I am lucky I am not homeless. Also, they cook and feed me. On my bday, I had lots of food. They worry about my health a lot too. They want me to get better and go on vacations with them. I’m like, pass. I have no desire to travel.

Anyway, the clapping apparently is on a 30-minute timer. It has stopped, so maybe I will be more relaxed now and can go back to sleep or read a book quietly.

Creativity

Creativity comes and goes. I’m not sure if it’s related to my mood or my medications. Probably a little of both. Many people with bipolar disorder think that their bipolar meds–mood stabilizers like Lamictal or Lithium–stunts their creativity. I have been taking Lamictal for ten years, and for a few years also had been taking Lithium, which made me fat. Anyway, I was rather unstable at the time, and also taking an antidepressant. My moods were all up and down, but I managed to do some writing. It wasn’t very good writing, but I was writing anyway and almost finish a book. I gave up on it because I just couldn’t figure out the ending, and though I believed in my characters I didn’t believe in the plot.

So, now, my disability is up for review, and I am anxious and worried that I might lose my benefits–disability income and Medicare. When I had first applied for disability in 2009, I had been having trouble working. I had quit my lost job in 2008 on the spot, after frequently calling in sick and showing up late, and going on temporary disability twice in 2007. I had been hospitalized in 2007 for ten days for a mixed manic episode and had difficulty returning to work. After I quit my job, I received either unemployment compensation or State disability benefits for about year. It was awhile ago, and I can’t remember. But it must have been State disability, because I was immediately approved for SSDI in 2009 and and received a retroactive lump sum going back to the date SSA determined I was first disabled.

I don’t think I am ready to go back to work, and I don’t know when I will be. I think I have a serious mental illness, and now I have arthritis which limits my activities. Now, I am feeling depressed and angry with my parents because they think I should just get up and get a job and go to work. Just because I look fine on the outside doesn’t mean I am okay. My parents really don’t get it. When I was a kid, I used to wish I hadn’t been born. Like if I had a choice, if anyone had asked me if I wanted be a sentient human being, I would have preferred not to exist. I realize I must sound very negative, but I feel like there is nothing special about me, nothing special about my life, and no special love. I have many interests but not much passion for anything in particular. I really wanted to write a book, but I haven’t been writing anything. When I was growing up, my primary ambition–my quest–was to write a book and get published. That was it. I didn’t think about getting married and having kids. But I have noticed over the years that I am usually happier with my life when I am in a good, stable relationship.

Anyway, I am thinking maybe I need to go back on Abilify, because I seemed more active and motivated then, when I was taking it. And I want to talk to my therapist again, because I stopped seeing her when I was doing physical therapy for the arthritis, and I am feeling angry and depressed and anxious again and as I mentioned above thinking that I shouldn’t have been born because lately I haven’t been feeling motivated to do anything except the most basic things in life. Of course, I still enjoy my TV shows and audiobooks, and I started playing WoW again, just an hour a day or so because of the arthritis and my neck and shoulder pains. Of the TV shows I have binge-watched these past few months: Supergirl, Shadowhunters, The Crown, Poldark, and Harlots. I watched Poldark twice in fact. I can’t wait for season 3, and I hope Harlots will get a season 2, because I really want to know what is gonna happen next. Other than that, most of the time I just wanna stay in bed. Oh and watch prime-time MSNBC, especially The Rachel Maddow Show.

That’s it for now. I probably won’t blog again until I receive news about my disability review. I hope my creativity will come back. I just wish that I could have had a normal and happy life when I was growing up. Maybe I would have been stronger and well-adjusted. Maybe I would have written half a dozen books by now. Maybe I would have a passion for life and feel like a have a reason for living and maybe I would want to go out and be around people and do purposeful things. But whatever. I haven’t talked to my mom since yesterday. I am still feeling resentful and angry about what she and my dad said. Oh, I’m sure they mean well, but they just have no clue what it means to have a disabling mental illness.