My life isn’t perfect, but I get help when I need it. After searching for solutions to the impossible, looking left, right, north, south and coming up empty–some miracle happens. Manna from heaven falls knee deep, and I stand there, stunned. Sometimes it takes me hours, weeks, years, to realize I have been helped. That’s the real gift: knowing I am not alone. I am loved.
One dismal March afternoon in 1998 as I drove along along Route 97 in upstate New York, I thought about my plight. Shackled to a man whose mental illness had sucked me dry, I half-believed his lies. Continue reading