(you better learn it fast, you better learn it young)
Someday I will write intelligent meaningful posts, radical, articulate and full of elegant analysis, honest I will.
Actually, someday I might have to. It feels as though all my ideas are being shaken up and rearranged, and streams of past experience, thoughts and memories are rising up within me, crying out for sense and shape to be made of them.
As ever, my difficulties and dilemmas are not just mine. I have to sort through all the debates about the validity of psychiatry, the variety of therapeutic approaches, the warring opinions, the mess of explanations for mental illness or disorder, to find a structure of meaning within which I can sanely live.
I want to stop taking the medication. (I *have* stopped taking the medication, but how long will I last, this time, before the hot shivers and cold prickles and sickness drive my weak self back again?)
- What have they done to me, what have I done to myself
And now I live like this.
I remember sunlight thick on the white walls and all the talk of war. How can I construct some optimistic vision of life on top of such a bitter heritage? What, in this wrecked and ruined earth, can possibly grow? Isn't it insane that anyone even expects we might be happy?
I learned it fast. I learned it young. There never was much innocence for me.