Chance and I were sitting on my bedroom floor, coloring a fuzzy poster with markers. It was late, we had hip-hop playing on my speaker, I was getting sleepy, and all I could think was, I’m going insane! I’m going insane!
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“I haven’t heard Henry’s voice in quite a while,” I thought to myself yesterday.
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Psychosis is believing my worst thoughts, my own interior monologue taking on a life of its own, physical sensations that don’t line up with reality, fears bigger than the moon, and logic that is completely inexplicable to anyone else.
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Yes, I have memories. Yes, they make me insane. I drive in circles through my neighborhood. I see people I know in strangers’ faces. I walk through a fluorescent convenience store. You know how it is.
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Things are… up and down.
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Staying up until 5:00 AM the night before you have to do anything is rarely a good idea.
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My body has, for some reason, decided to completely give up on regulating its temperature.
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I had a performance evaluation at work today.
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Books like The Perks of Being a Wallflower and Looking for Alaska shaped my adolescence. Filled with pithy quotes that appeal to angst-ridden teens like I was, they provided an escape from the depression I felt in high school.Â
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