Accidently parting from you, clearly, holds significance.
And I found myself coming here at a time where I am beginning to think that I could write a book.
I can use an impressionistic art inspired style to write out my life and make better sense of it in the process.
Why now?
Because I know what I’ve been going through this entire time. Partly identity crisis, but mainly, bad mental health.
Which lead to uncertainty about who was me and what was my own bad health.
And while I am not working a job, I’m not moved out, my family is a mess, and so much more, I just finally feel the repetitive black-hole-falling-sensation is gone. I’m still an emotional nutcase. I’m still a weirdo. But I finally know that’s me. FINALLY.
And I would really love to show someone like me that despite lack of support, if they really feel they are struggling to get help. If there’s anything I’ve learned it’s that you should trust your mind and body when it tries to tell you something is wrong.
Everyone else can fuck off.
And if the first twenty people you talk to say you’re fine, find other fucking people. Don’t mess up like I’ve been. Don’t spend years doubting yourself.
So yeah, I’m going to write a book. Maybe it’ll never appear. Or I’ll just throw up on wattpad. CAUSE YOLO.
Hugs to the void that is my blog. Maybe I can at least show it to my kids someday or something!
April Out Loud 