A Dog Named Prozac
And his owner/therapist who taught me compassion.
Mom stood from my couch and stared at her smartphone’s screen. She couldn’t recall the name of her video-sharing channel.
“It’s something about a grammy,” she said in a higher than normal pitch. “I didn’t want to lose the videos. I don’t remember where they are. I…” Her pressured speech, a symptom of her bipolar disorder, resulted in non-stop rambling.