Celine Stewart still came to me in my dreams. She never spoke, she just pleaded with me through sad eyes, silently accusing me of screwing up. When I’d first been diagnosed, my doctor recommended Prozac, but the idea of using any kind of mind-altering drug had little appeal to me. I rejected his offer of medicated bliss and instead turned to my lifelong love of sailing for relief. Still, on occasion, I suffer episodes of darkness where the light dims and threatens to go out. This is often followed by roller coaster flights of fancy and bravado. Today, all I wanted to do was sleep. A distant beat tore me from dark dreams where that ghost taunted me. Looking around the room I felt dazed until I realized that the music was the call of my cell phone. I reached over, picked it up, and when I saw the number, put it back down. The last person I wanted to talk to was Jessica. I rolled over and went back to sleep. Once again it was my phone that woke me. Once again it was Jessica. I flipped it open.
