If I could sleep forever

The voice hates me still.

I take pills for it, but still

1.

Sometimes it rains hard.

The light comes from you sometimes,

Doris Lessing:

1) I have a deep interest in interpersonal relations, life stories, and psychology. My favorite movies are people talking about their feelings and my favorite books are memoirs, biographies, and personal essays.

2) I like to think I have good if not just eclectic taste (music, video, books), but that's subjective.

3) My spiritual path is important to me but I don't shove it down people's throats. (Is that in service of others? Nah.)

It's hard to sum up 6 years worth of trauma. I haven't been writing for a long time. I struggle with whether it's better to focus on getting better and shouting platitudes or chronicle the living nightmare I've been a part of for so long. I don't want to bum everyone out. Or myself.

Shout out to [diagnosed] crippling depression, anxiety, phobia, and the cherry on top--psychosis.

I recently binge-watched this UK drama called Flowers (on Netflix rn) about an eccentric, dysfunctional family. One of the characters is this young Japanese illustrator who loses his whole family to an earthquake. Eventually, he gets to illustrate for this writer (the father of this kooky family) and they form a close bond. One day, the illustrator breaks down. He talks about losing his family. He found his little sister under the rubble. He was inconsolable. Then one day, he picked up these dark children's books written by this author and starts feeling better. He tells the him how, through his books, he was able to see that horrible things happen in the world and you could talk about them and that it's okay.

This made me start bawling for some reason. I felt myself in that moment, that I was being seen. It was the first time I cried like that since I was put on medication that has the side effect of making it impossible for a moment to build to tears. Try to deal with all that unreleased tension and then write a love song.

That scene motivated me to believe maybe if I write about the macabre workings of my mental illness, how I've learned to snap back, someone else will see that horrible things happen in the world and you could talk about them and that it's okay.