It's 3 p.m. on a Sunday at the coffeehouse. I'm here with friends who've all been down the rocky road I traveled. I'm sunk in the comfort of a marigold chair. Reed says, "Isn't it nice to know if you look at us, you can't tell we have schizophrenia?"
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I'm listening to Madonna for inspiration as I write this column. In April I turn 40. I'm convinced it's the age of true courage. I look forward to re-inventing myself. It's the time to strip down my inhibitions and reveal my true self, in a way I couldn't when I was younger.
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It was my mother's birthday, and we sat at a table in Luigi's, in my neighborhood, eating dinner. It was just the two of us. She'd taken the bus over the bridge, and we met on this rainy night inside the restaurant.
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It was another Monday in the City, a summer evening transformed into a magical event: the drive-in movie at Bryant Park. I stood in front of the concession stand near the F train entrance, waiting on a friend.
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Spending an hour in Sephora is my newest obsession. The makeup emporium has now opened two blocks away from my Manhattan psychiatrist. The expression "retail therapy" aptly describes the pick-me-up I get from poring over the goods in this store after I exit his office.
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Eric Jackson, the Latino/LGBT editor of New York City Voices, moved to Puerto Rico in the summer, fulfilling a long-held dream to return to the country of his roots-and his loving, extended family.
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Good news: the myth of chronic joblessness among those with mental illnesses has been shattered by a Sustained Employment Study conducted by Boston University's Center for Psychiatric Rehabilitation. Started three years ago, the longitudinal survey allows the project directors to shed light on work outcomes over time.
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