Burnt Edges: The Warmth and Chaos of Love
As Mom danced around the kitchen, her movements were a symphony of anticipation, each step and turn synchronized with the rhythm of her soaring mood. But the melody soured abruptly, a needle scratching across vinyl, when she discovered the empty egg carton. "This is a disaster!" she cried out, her voice a crescendo of despair, "We can't possibly make cookies now!"
Navigating Shame and Guilt Following a Hypomanic/Manic Episode
As I've replayed the events in my head, the guilt and regret have been haunting me, occasionally bringing me to tears. However, today's therapy session brought an important realization: I've been attacking myself relentlessly, not fully acknowledging that I have a disorder and that my brain chemistry can sometimes go haywire.