‘Life’s Short Interruption: Part I’ i. In life untethered from psychiatric supervision, free from ongoing medication, I tried to find where I now stood. There was no forgetting this thing. It was scarred into me, just like the surgical scars on my right arm when doctors had operated to insert plates on broken bones when I was sixteen. But that healed. It might never have gotten back to perfect, but it was healed. This felt like it could re-fracture, and there was no forgetting it. It remained there, lurking, inside my head. Some days, I was fine. And some days, I wasn’t. The anxiety would brim, threatening to go from…