A man walks into a bar. He takes a seat and starts a conversation with an old guy next to him. The old guy has obviously had a few. He says to the man, “You see that dock out there? Built it myself, hand crafted each piece, and it’s the best dock in town. But do they call me ‘McGregor, the dock builder?’ No! And you see that bridge over there? I built that, took me two months, through rain, sleet and scorching weather. But do they call me ‘McGregor, the bridge builder?’ No! And you see that pier over there? I built that, best pier in the county. But do they call me ‘McGregor, the pier builder?’ No!”
The old guy looks around, leans closer to the man, and he says, ” But you fuck one goat…”
Okay, here’s the deal about living with mental illness. Even when you’re not having an episode and your medication is regulated and you’re managing your shit and everything’s going along hunky dory, it’s hard. ‘Cause I gotta question my behavior. Is this okay? When I get sad, is it okay to be this sad? Is this the beginning of an episode? Have I been sad for a few days? Do I feel sick right now or am I closing down? Do I simply want to be alone for a few days while I work or am I circling my wagons? Questions, questions.