Were I to put myself on... one of those online dating things, I would not include in my profile that I'm regularly hospitalized for psychosis. But I do know that when I get really bad, there is a place for me to go where I will feel better.
I get absolutely shitfaced. I am shitfaced and hyper and ten years old. I am having the time of my life.
The madness is there, and will always be there. But it will keep sleeping, as long as I don't wake it up.
We were at another funeral party. I wasn’t sure who had died this time, but it was a suicide, and upsetting because it was completely out of season. No on killed themselves in summertime. It was rude.
Hatred is so much closer to love than indifference.
I'm a driven perfectionist, very self-critical.
For me, the first sign of oncoming madness is that I'm unable to write.
Children take in more information than we'd like to believe.
In our absence, the violet early evening light pours in the bay window, filling the still room like water poured into a glass. The glass is delicate. The thin, tight surface of the liquid light trembles. But it does not break. Time does not pass. Not yet.
My students know I have a life, they know I've written about my life. They know some detail, probably more than they know about their physics teacher, but I would've told them anyway!
...Someone speaks in soft tones to me and says I am psychotic, but it's going to be all right. I put on my hat, unperturbed, and ask for some crayons.
My parents say that even as a very, very little kid, the way that I acted was dramatically different from other little kids.
You can't teach an ear, you can't teach talent, but you can teach people who have those things not to just fly by the seat of their pants.
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