My addictions are mine and comfortable. I wish I didn’t have them, but they’re part of me. They’re like my disabilities– I know what to do. My addictions are like soft, frayed blankets, easy to fall into. I’m not proud of them, but I’m used to them. I know how they smell. my addictions Long
Dear one, I want to tell you that paranoia makes sense. I’m not making a mistake exactly. I’m seeing what’s there after being gaslit by culture. The contrast between the truth and the official word is whiplashing. Like when my mom died. It’s bad enough to lose someone I need and all that entails–her unfathomable
This poem “craziness and consent” is mostly about disability and family pain. craziness and consent does consent count how crazy is too crazy when I’m in another mood altered state another world unshared reality my spouse tried to do it with me he takes no for an answer and never shamed me for anything
he’s the kind of guy who takes a bunch of naked pictures interspersed with not-naked pictures and wants to show you not-naked pictures, but you accidentally see some unexpected dick. he’s the kind of guy who reads difficult books because his head craves exciting brilliant difference. he’s the kind of guy who needs to sedate
When I left my ex-husband, he decided I was having a manic episode. He called my parents and my best friend to tell them I was having a manic episode and ask them to check up on me and try to help me. He thought I was crazy. I remember my best friend telling me