Patrice is 5 today. Five.
In some ways that makes me 5 as well. Five years ago mental illness invaded me first as baby blues, then postpartum depression and anxiety with a psychotic episode. And it never went away.
My therapist said I should look at all the good times during those 5 years. And I try, and succeed, pretty often. But every good time was against the landscape of mental illness. Me trying to cope. Me trying to learn to live. Me trying to live.
Patrice has grown from a little baby.
To an amazing 5 year old who loves fiercely, can add up to 5, can’t wait to learn to read, crazy cute and oh so funny. Amazing.
The years have been sweet. The years have been hard. But we are here to celebrate them together. My Patrice and I.
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