On the phone with my friend's therapist

OK, that's not literally true. I spent an hour on the phone with my oldest friend last night, and while she seemed peaceful and we laughed a lot, I noticed that much of our conversation sounded nothing like her. It sounded like I was talking to a collection of inspirational refrigerator magnets. 

"I trust that there is good in the universe."

"I wasted time worrying about what I can't control."

"I'm processing everything that happened.”

I was alternately annoyed and amused. It felt like I was talking to her shrink, when all I wanted was to talk to my friend.

But then I was happy. My oldest friend is bipolar, and at times I have been very, very worried that she hasn’t been consulting her shrink. Obviously, she’s now not only speaking to a mental health professional, she’s taking it to heart. 

Or “processing it.”

I believe that, for now, she’s in fake-it-till-you-make-it mode. And that’s fine. I love her very much and want her to be happy.