Friday, March 1, 2013

Asylum Walk (56)


Where’s the hope?

Everywhere, or nowhere.

You said there would be hope.

No, I said there is hope. There’s sunlight, too. It doesn’t mean you’re standing in it. It doesn’t mean it’s not night.

When did you finally accept your diagnosis?

If by “accept” you mean absolutely, unconditionally—then never. But as a useful shorthand, I adopted it at age 49, four years ago.

Why then?

It fit facts I could no longer dispute. And it’s hard to talk about anything without a name.

It became useful?

Necessary. I didn’t want to waste another second fighting a name when I needed all of my energy to fight what the name refers to.

So you’re okay with labels?

Okay, not-okay. I’m less interested in labels than in what they mean to the people using them.

Who determines what “high functioning” means?

You do. Who else?

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