night was really behind me. Then I found myself with a $900 prescription to fill and no insurance to soften the blow. I have fallen victim to memory lapses during manic episodes that make me think I can live without antipsychotic medications, but I was blessed to be in a depressive state at the time. Another winter approached and I was sad to stubbornly be living the life into which I was born. I felt death lingering near the ends of my own fingertips. And with an in-box full of rejections and silence from the seven hundred jobs for which I had applied in the previous year, I knew that the
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