lunes, 16 de septiembre de 2024

Unexpected diagnosis

I joked to my psychologist about the diagnosis she would put on my chart. "Schizophrenia? Bipolar disorder? Multiple personality?" I knew clearly that my diagnosis was nowhere near that; I had survived harrowing situations and faced life with enviable strength. She smiled. My fortitude amazed her, I knew it, and I knew that the referral to her was simply a mistake.

"Adjustment disorder," she finally said.

So then I killed her.

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The letter I never sent

Dear you (or dearest, or beloved you): It is time for this letter to reach your hands, your eyes, or any sense that allows you to absorb as ...