My daughter is caught in a hamster wheel. She can jump off occasionally, but before long, she is on again ... running for her life. A couple of years ago I wrote about her battle with a depressive episode that lasted for months. She spent many weeks in the psych unit at the local hospital. She's been in and out several times since, sometimes for mania, but this time, once again, she's depressed. One of her floor mates two years ago is now her roommate.
Meghan and Carleatha shadow each other in a never ending cycle of mental health clinics and visits to the ward. Carleatha. Carleatha, imp, fairy, pixie, a foil for Tinkerbell. Carleatha with the shock of short white hair that sticks up stubbornly on top of her head, Carleatha with that round chocolate face, black plastic spectacles perched on the end of her nose. Carleatha. Yes, Carleatha, a sixty something schizophrenic whose imaginary world sometimes gets the better of her.
When Meghan is distressed, she calls out names before her body's battle for sleep finally takes over. One night Meghan, in a semi-conscious, drug induced sleep called out to Carleatha, who startled from sleep replied "Huh? What?" I'm sure she was trying to determine whether the voice was real or not. Ah me. Carleatha.
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