Page 24 of Maid in America

Eat healthy and manage stress. Avoid triggers and practice relaxation with yoga and/or meditation.

How can one do that when life always bombards you with aggravating situations? That’s life. Life is stressful.

Avoid drugs and alcohol. Substance use can worsen or exacerbate mood swings.

That was the one that bothered her the most, an impairment that would ostracize her at just about every wedding or social function. She was not addicted to alcohol. She could do without its awful taste and the hangovers. But drugs and alcohol sometimes took the edge off. They made her feel more… normal.

Enroll in regular therapy sessions. Find a counselor or therapist. A psychologist can evaluate your moods and habits and prescribe medication to lessen symptoms. Discuss coping techniques. Learn to identify triggers and mood swings.

She refused to let a hair-brained quack turn her into some emotionless zombie.

Sure, the lows werelow. Shehadthought about ending it all. A few times, in fact. Church had taught her that suicide was an unforgivable sin, but damnation wasn’t what kept her alive. It was something more, the waste of potential that it all would have been if she had taken the easy route. Somehow, inexplicably, she could always see through the fog enough to know that taking her own life wasn’t the answer.

And thehighsof being bipolar…

The highs were intoxicating. The thought of ever dulling that with medications so that she could be like everyone else made her want to scream.

For years, she had no idea that she’d even been experiencing manic and depressive episodes. Still, now she wondered if themaniawas what waskeepingher alive, keeping her tethered to this world, keeping her from making a choice she couldn’t ever come back from on days like today when she felt swallowed by that familiar sense of dread.

The psychologist had been blunt and brief in his diagnosis. Her mind was a tsunami of whirling thoughts and pain followed by an overwhelming sense of loneliness for the weeks that followed. It was devastating to know that once people heardthat word, they’d assume they knew just about everything they needed to know about her.

Bipolar.

Notkindornurturing.

Notgreat with animals.

Notbright and talented.

People would, instead, think of her as some nuclear bomb, constantly on the brink of detonation.

Something isn’t quite right with her.

Those were her mother’s words, ones she’d overheard for the umpteenth time, ones that landed her in that leather therapist’s chair finally.

Chastity had made the mistake of telling her mother about her diagnosis the same night. Her mother’s brilliant suggestion was topray it awaylike a demon to be exorcised, like being bipolar was some sacrilegious act that one could beg for deliverance from.

She tried to explain to her mother that this was something she never asked for. Something she never wanted. Something she didn’t bring on with an action. Somethingshe didn’t deserve.

Chastity set her empty bottle on the bar and heard one of the regular bartenders holler, “Another?”

Chastity shook her head. “Gimme a shot of tequila, and then cash me out. This place is dead.”

The shot was in front of her in a flash and inside of her even faster. As the man behind the bar ran her already-racked credit card, her amber eyes glanced around at the men in the bar.

Even though she didn’t know if he even frequentedThe Alibi, part of her hoped to see Barrett, hoped for more mind-blowing sex to distract her.

But he wasn’t there.

The man handed her card and receipt over. She debated taking a drive over to the honky-tonk where she’d met him,debated making up an excuse to take a walk by his apartment, but as she scribbled her name and pocketed the card, she felt deflated. Thinking of her diagnosis did that a lot lately.

She decided instead to head home, back to her parent’s place. The newest episode ofSummer Lovewould be on. She could drift to sleep to the sound of petty arguments and dream of a life where she was someone else.

9

Tossing the covers back,Barrett fisted his granite erection in his grasp, stroking it with a death grip. He had regularly punished his cock since his blissful night with the woman who called herself Aphrodite. Something about the thought of her body made his dick weep. He pictured rolling her pierced nipples raised into pebbled peaks between his fingers. He imagined his tongue diving into the wet bliss of her mouth. He could almost feel his cock grind against her skin, skin that was wet and aching for him.

After a few minutes of frustration, he growled, once again unable to climax, a feeling of relief that had eluded him since he had been inside her.

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