Black lives with mental illness matter, too.
I read because I want to understand this strange state of mind that seizes me at unlikely times.
Sometimes I have an appetite for fixing people.
Let us realize that for every poem, there are many long dark nights of the soul that the sufferer would prefer to be without.
The future remains an unprinted page whereupon there are no answers.
You think you have The Beast sealed under a layer of concrete, but the covering proves to be no stronger than a sheet.
The moral of this story is that you are not damned by your genes. They are not a curse, they are not predestination.
Two doses of Xanax in succession seem to have brought me out of the mania.
The signs are clear: combativeness, difficulty dealing with difficult people, the color red seems unusually intense, and a slight shaking that no one can see but I can sense.
I asked her to show me a study that showed that this self-identification was harmful. Silence.