Too true

So, What Do You Do?

The not-so secret life of a manic depressant.

And she heard the dreaded words, “so what do you do?”
She twitched a little, thoughts raced – “what excuse shall I use? What do I possibly say? I don’t do anything, I’m mentally ill,” she became choked up and stuttered and mumbled her words, like she was learning how to talk.
“I’m off work for mental illness” she muttered silently as she looked down at her gripped hands. White knuckles once again. Just like every other time this conversation happens.
They looked at her, so clearly showing that they did not know what to say. There were different responses. Always different, but never any positive.
She released her tiny fists for fear of piercing her skin with her nails. The grip was always so tight.
Back to reality. Clueless faces staring.
She did not know what to say. No one did.
What she wanted to blurt out was so…

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