The patient[1] is a forty-year-old woman who walks with the heavy use of crutches. She has been referred, as is sometimes the case with the more extreme stories of human suffering, directly from the inpatient psychiatry unit at the hospital after a nearly lethal medication overdose.[2] She is in my office today on the heels […]
The tape measure feels cold in my hands. I try to be casual as I wrap it around the widest part of my hips, as the boutique’s website directs. Forty-two inches. Sigh. The waist is next, though it’s hard to even find the narrowest part as the instructions dictate. It all seems to be blurring
The pills feel light in my hand, belying the importance that they bring to my moods. They are small perfect circles, in a pale pink shade, that feel, in this moment, like they have no business being so damn heavy. They are only pills, after all. Why should my brain chemistry and indeed entire swaths