Amnesia and Mental Health
I feel like I’m breathing through dirt and shards of pain, and that’s all there is. I don’t think I’ve truly given up, but it all feels like bullshit. How many times have I tried to take my own life? Many. And I was terrible at even that.
I need a hug, a real connection with someone I love and trust. I want to feel safe and escape this lonely skeleton hole I claim as my body. I’m on so many medications, mostly for my brain, but I don’t know if they’re helping. If they are, I can't tell because my sense of self is reflected in the disorderly chapters reading to themselves, inside my cerebrum.
This headspace makes it hard to write because I’m afraid to open that wound in my mind-that now feels like a dangerous place to explore. When I was 20 I hopped on a plane that landed in Prague. That was really scary—it was so much frightening then my first trip overseas. In Prague it snowed; I’d never been that cold before.
Recently I’ve been traveling to Barcelona, I often go to Spain. This is the writing I get lost in—the memories and all the hurt. And many nostalgic memories.
