I don’t like it anymore. Well, maybe I do, a little bit. But I don’t need it anymore, and I have a preference for writing for specific audiences. This blog has helped me write when I have lacked purpose for writing, to write for the sake of my need to organise and express my introspection.
Shouting into a true vacuum of space siphons off some thoughts, because nature abhors a vacuum [our family motto for our messy house]. But I want to direct my communication energy into networks now.
Something has changed drastically over the past three months in how my brain and body work together. I think I am better now than I was before.
I’ve had a few diagnoses handed to me as bitter pills, syrups in silver spoons and disguised as refreshing glasses of water. I resist all of them.
Crasy, psychosis (gateway to schizophrenia), bipolar affective disorder, manic episode, borderline personality disorder, PTSD, none of these are what I want, tthough each offers a cloak to wear on different occassions.. Crazy means a good thing in the local slang, ‘jungle english’, which also has a catchall phrase for illness: ‘jungle fever’.
I’ll continue to struggle to beat the borders in my brain and along the way I might learn a thing or two about #junglefever