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“Don’t you dare get back to that medical practitioner,” my mother growled in to the phone. “He’ll put ‘bipolar’ on your record and then you’ll not be in a position to get a task.”
I nodded to the receiver. “Okay.”
We never ever returned. Seven years later, we woke up in a ward that is psych.
Growing up, I thought we happened to be emotionally healthier. I experienced a sizable family that is chinese my mother’s part (my dad is white). We had been a lively, noisy, tight-knit team composed of around 20 bloodstream family relations and 3 million non-blood family members. Everyone else knew each business that is other’s. Remote family relations inquired about college, commented to my fat, and asked if I experienced a boyfriend. Continue reading “H >The silent shame of experiencing a psychological infection in A chinese household.”