Dear Mental Health Services Consumer

Big fires. That’s the rule now. It was -3° outside when I got up this morning and although the house gets warm, it’s very nice to stay close to the fire. I’m committed to using no electricity at all to heat my house; my electrical bill was ridiculously high last year.

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I loved everything about school. Some teachers were magnificent compensation for indifferent parents and my fellow students provided me with the brothers and sisters I didn’t have at home. I never screwed up at school; I never got into any trouble. Quite to the contrary; college was all scholarships and honours—all of which gave me confidence.

But last night I had a dream in which I had a thesis advisor and examination supervisor admonishing me for wasting their time on me and giving me a filing grade. At one point in the dream I saw “opt out” written in red pen on the top of my exam.

I am relentlessly mean to myself in my dreams. 

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I’m finding life a little daunting right now. Even dog walking/forest bathing is causing seizures. I had a “6” this morning and it’s the second one I’ve had with my small group in a week.

I got a form letter addressed, “Dear Mental Health Services Consumer.” 

I could write a book about what happens in my head when I read that. But it serves to remind me that I’m entitled to retreat when beset by an overabundance of symptoms.