mental illness is a tower. or a well. or an island. or an ocean.
i’m facebook friends with a girl i went to grade school with and she commented on one of my photos with jubilee, “i remember in first grade when you said you wished for a kitten every day. so glad your dreams are coming true!”
i hang love notes on my wall—from my brother, my aunt, old friends. my freshman year, i took a closed female sexuality workshop and someone wrote, “when i first saw you, i was amazed at your vitality, vibrance & beauty.”
mental illness is a wall. with a pinhole in it. you know you love/are loved, but the warmth barely seeps through. and something something about climbing, but some days you retreat to your mountain of sheets and sing sad songs about your heart and whether or not it will survive a new england winter.