Mothers Are Great. They Outlast Everything. But

I Get Lots Of Awards For Being Mentally Ill. Apparently, I Am Better At Being Mentally Ill Than Almost Anything Else I've Ever Done. Seriously - I Have A Shelf Of Awards For Being Bipolar.

What Worries Me Is, What If This Guy Is Really The One For Me And I Just Haven't Had Enough Therapy Yet For Me To Be Comfortable With Having Found Him.

I Used To Refer To My Drug Use As Putting The Monster In The Box. I Wanted To Be Less, So I Took More - Simple As That. Anyway, I Eventually Decided That The Reason Dr. Stone Had Told Me I Was Hypomanic Was That He Wanted To Put Me On Medication Instead Of Actually Treating Me. So I Did The Only Rational Thing I Could Do In The Face Of Such As Insult - I Stopped Talking To Stone, Flew Back To New York, And Married Paul Simon A Week Later.

I Shot Through My Twenties Like A Luminous Thread Through A Dark Needle, Blazing Toward My Destination: Nowhere.

As You Get Older, The Pickings Get Slimmer, But The People Don't.