I Don't Look Crazy (Crazy Isn't a Look)
Hi. It me. You’d think I’d procured an invisibility cloak with how often my state-run mental health facility forgets I’m breathing and 10 minutes early to every appointment. (I'd like a gold star or something at this point. Kidding....sort of.) I know. I know. The system is overwhelmed. It is. I see it every time I walk into the public health building after seeking a parking space in the overcrowded lot. I see it in the exhausted but determined faces of every healthcare worker as they call back another group class for the cluster of gathered souls in recovery from heroin and other substances. (My cat Angus is currently peering over my shoulder as I write this. Pretty sure he’s internally judging me.) You see, I looked in the mirror today and chose to wear a striped tee, corduroy dungarees, vans slip-ons, and throw on a bit of mascara. My denim-blue hair contrasts with my gold glasses and I felt pretty cute. But walking into a mental health facility such as the one I’m de
