And I would (perhaps) feel less shame for my silence then, when the Men took my neighbours away and called a Blessing this unseasonal sorrow under a spring sun.
Tag: mental health
Day 47
... and I remember the beats and coos of winged and vexed things.
Reveries
But there will be time to cast a tear for the penny rich bones.
On alcohol, mood boosters, and not writing
Remarkably, it was only when I started to study Experiences and Design that I realized the glaringly evident biological fact: mood can affect our perceptions and actions. If we're in a good mood, we tend to be more generous, forgiving, and perceive positively ambiguous situations. Hashtag epiphany. Yay. This is how mood disorders set off … Continue reading On alcohol, mood boosters, and not writing
Mania (revisited)
It will be a spectacular shipwreck. You enter twilight with your heart oozing coffee and single malt, tittering on the edge of aneurysms bursting, bursting riotously to the pulse of stars beating, beating like drums. Returning nightly to a vacant den dining on an expensive takeout meal for one. Mock me if you will. You … Continue reading Mania (revisited)
On living for ourselves, and a death-day reflection
“April is the cruellest month.” Trauma has a peculiar effect on me. Prompted by dates, places, smells, passages of text, or fragments of music, my body - the muscles, bones, cells, nerves, neurons and all, harmonize to re-enact an affective experience of that ordeal. The mind attempts to forget, but some primordial agent still holds … Continue reading On living for ourselves, and a death-day reflection
Unreality
These are the times when the unreality sets in, and he would notice how incorrigibly separated he is from the comings and goings around, rising like helium above breath. These are the days that stretch long and rides home are odysseys through the "sterile promontory" of other lives. These are the times when even the … Continue reading Unreality
Micro. Mania.
It’s not that I don’t have the words for it, but that there’s no one around to hear it. And words are lonely wisps, alive only in the eyes of the observer. There is a fresh word for this insanity now, they call it rapid cycle bipolar disorder. No-one else heard its name though, … Continue reading Micro. Mania.
Home
It was first known as 'the house', 'my parent's place', 'back there', a cage, my prison. Schoolmates used to ask if they could come by and play, when we walked past my door on their way home. Before I run out of excuses, they stopped asking; soon they stopped sharing that walk with me too, … Continue reading Home
My 4-step coping strategy for panic attacks.
It begins with the world closing in and the floors and the desks and the walls and the crowd and the trees and grass and the skies bending, bending towards you with vehement intent and the space around you spinning, spinning into a whirlpool of red, yellow, orange and green then bright, bright light scorching … Continue reading My 4-step coping strategy for panic attacks.
Because Ido is a fucking insane person and can’t sleep and there is pandemonium in his brain.
Mani and Clinny D are fighting and Ido is trapped in the middle for the nine hundredsth fucking time, twin planets grating in his head. D has the upper hand. Clinny fucking D. It turns out that D can’t die. She’s a magnificent un-k-i-l-l-able tardigrade. Mani had drowned her. Smothered her in asphalt. Quartered her. … Continue reading Because Ido is a fucking insane person and can’t sleep and there is pandemonium in his brain.
On Credibility
Credibility is a peculiar currency. Once gained, multitude of it compounds. Once lost, it is nigh impossible to regain. It’s the one characteristics that leaders must possess if they wish to be effective over time. This should be intuitive: to achieve the unimagined, she must be believed. To be believed, she must be credible. I’m … Continue reading On Credibility
Confessions of a Workaholic
My brain pulsates. I feel a needle churning behind my eyes. My breath is shallow. The lights spin a little, settle, I find my footing and head towards the door. I’ve lost count of how many cups of coffee I’ve had this evening, but my heart is still beating, so I’m going to get my … Continue reading Confessions of a Workaholic
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