Today is May 25, 2014. I am alive and well.

Michael Greenberg writes in Hurry Down Sunshine “It’s a terrible paradox–the mind falls in love with psychosis.” When I’m psychotic, I don’t understand that I’m psychotic. My psychosis doesn’t bother me. It is the people around me who are alarmed. I sometimes think I am a better writer when psychotic. My spiritual mentor has to remind me that I don’t write things that are lucid when psychotic. I have my own special language. I am paranoid that my medication robs me of some of my creative instinct, but then again without medication my mind does get sick. My prescribing physicians have done their best to not numb my mind, burying it in a haze of pills. Burying me in a cocktail so powerful that the best I can do is stare at the television with no sight, drooling. Seriously, I have been over medicated at times, unable to bend my arm and turn right. I may have to struggle a bit more on some days to stay in the common reality, but stay I do. Most of the time.


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