#julias

You gave me the War of Art 8 years ago. I was certainly in a War.

I read the book. Dog-eared practically every page in a manic rage.

I can remember when the psychosis really took over, you tried to reckon with me, telling me I was ruining everything I had.

You were right. 8 years later I tried to pick up The War of Art, and I didn't want to because every dog-eared page I turned reminded me of how much I lost to those days.

But I still sat down. It was an easy read, I thought, I could get through it.

Last night I got to page 78. All that was left behind of page 79 was a ragged edge. I had ripped it clear out.

Anger filled over me but I took a step back. I don't know what happened to that page. Or why I did it. But I must have really needed it. I feigned self-forgiveness and went to bed.

This morning, I found the missing page. It made me cry. I certainly needed that reminder with me in that time, and it served its purpose.

I printed it out and hung it up. I need the reminder today, too.

I wonder if part of what my subconscious did then was to leave little ripples in time for me to find. To push me on when I need a light.

🎬 Title: Julia(s) / Le Tourbillon de la vie Story: Set in Paris in 2052, the film follows 80-year-old Julia, who reflects on her life on her birthday. As she reminisces, she considers the pivotal decisions and events that shaped her journey from the age of 17 until now. Each seemingly minor moment presented her with a fork in the road, each leading to significant outcomes. She ponders what might…

I wish I could hug my younger self, spend a day with her in the fire

I'd tell her the fight is worth fighting. That while the fuse you're lighting will travel down the wire,

and you will be engulfled in flames, you will also be a survivor.

I'd tell her in hindsight you will be proud. The flames were enough to melt steel, but here I am, able to feel.

I'd tell her that the mountain you're climbing has a beautiful view. I'd reassure her that one day, she will see it too.

I'd tell her to keep walking. One day, she will run

One day, I was in Mexico with the love of my life Met at the airport, we took separate flights

It was romantic, beautiful, a dream But everything was not what it seemed

We went to the pyramids and I said something unwarranted, "That woman who just passed. It was me, from a past life."

But otherwise, I seemed fine We took our separate flights, got on with our lives

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That September, he said baby, go to the doctor I'd lost so much weight, my brain was starting to wander

It was hard to focus. Rapid thoughts, couldn't eat, couldn't sleep I'd always been sad, but I remember I was six months clean

His diagnosis: IBS. You're just depressed. He handed me a pamphlet and said, "Which one haven't you tried yet?"

The Wellbutrin he gave me sent me through the roof In November, I bought my first Tarot book

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I went at least a week without sleeping, barely eating I didn't stop writing. I didn't stop screaming.

What I did in December, and the few months thereafter Healthy me is embarrassed by. I was a disaster.

It made no sense. It was a delusion. But in my brain, it felt like a nuclear fusion

It took years of therapy, medication, trusting the doctors To be at the point now where I say, "Yeah, that girl lost it."

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There was no prophecy. No hidden messages in the music. Nothing I said had any meaning. It was all a delusion

So to the people of the future, know one thing for certain You can go through this blog all you want, look behind my curtain

It's not my Achilles heel, it's proof that bipolar people can heal I found strength in this struggle, my resilience will be revealed