What Saved My Life?

Dark clouds of depression had descended and at every turn I was choosing self-destruction. It was 1981. My blood had turned green. I blamed my negative feelings about myself and my life on my parents (even though I was a 28-year-old adult)—the disappointments that unrealistic expectations bring and the shunning that accompanied being lesbian, practically my sole identity. I went from college to professional jobs to dishwashing, moves that seemed reasonable at the time—aren’t they all?