I was within and without, simultaneously enchanted and repelled by the inexhaustible variety of life.
How can you love a personality crafted by therapy and pills, where every uphill is a mountain, and the downhill a cliff? How could you possibly love a girl who’s idea of stability is a teetering surfboard on the wicked ocean from ‘a perfect storm’. The motion of that ocean is a tidal wave of anti depressants and some chemical seratonin to construct the dam that holds off the river of suicidal tendency, because all the “put together” people had the audacity to tell her to “get over it”. At night, while you sleep in the comfort of your bed, I travel the high wire, the tight rope walk; and let me tell you, my brain isn’t the only part of me without balance.
The absolute worst part about breaking down alone in my room late at night is not having anyone to go to for help.
Awkwardly working at a party at my gay hippy boss’ house. This is so weird.