I don’t even know how many times I’ve read No Longer Human at this point. It’s not one of those books you revisit because it makes you feel good—it doesn’t. It drags you down into this dark, cold ocean, and somehow, I keep diving in. I first picked it up during a night at the hospital, while my mom was asleep and my dad was pretending he wasn't in pain. I was curled » Continue Reading
Sometimes I wonder if my fascination with obscure, often dark topics stems from the absence of death in my childhood. My life has been... quiet. Sure, I was shuttled between hospitals from a young age, but it always felt padded, distant—like everything painful was kept at arm’s length. Even during those hospital stays, I never saw anyone dying. I never even saw a body. When my cats died, my mother... » Continue Reading
I relapsed again. I lost count of how many times now. It feels like every time I get a little better, every time I make a plan or a promise to myself, I end up breaking it. I fall back into old habits, old thoughts, old pain. And every time I do, the voice in my head gets louder: You’re a failure. You’re weak. You don’t deserve to get better. People love to say, » Continue Reading
Today is my birthday. I'm spending it in a hospital bed, surrounded by the smell of antiseptic and the steady beeping of machines that remind me my body’s not doing so great. I’m not sure what’s wrong exactly—just the usual storm of symptoms no one can name with certainty. I should feel something today. Excitement? Gratitude? Maybe even hope? But I don’t. I just feel tired. And more than anything,... » Continue Reading
I’ve been thinking a lot about Friedrich Nietzsche lately—not because I’m into his philosophy (though some of it is interesting), but because I relate to his life. Not in a deep intellectual way. More in a very human, very painful one. I live with a bunch of mental health diagnoses: depression, bipolar disorder, autism, generalized anxiety, and paranoid thoughts. That’s already a lot to carry. On ... » Continue Reading
I hate being mute. I know that’s not the poetic way to start, but it’s the truth. I hate the way my throat locks up like a cage every time someone looks at me, expecting words. I hate the way my mind screams with things to say, but my mouth stays shut like it’s not mine. I hate how people look at me like I’m strange, or worse, invisible. I’m not physically mute. I ha » Continue Reading
I'm NOT a soft gay boy. I'm NOT a soft gay boy. I'm NOT a soft gay boy. I'm NOT a soft gay boy. I'm NOT a soft gay boy. I'm NOT a soft gay boy. I'm NOT a soft gay boy. I'm NOT a soft gay boy. I'm NOT a soft gay boy. I'm NOT a soft gay boy. I'm NOT a soft gay boy. I'm NOT a soft gay boy. I'm NOT a soft gay boy. I'm NOT a soft gay boy. I'm NOT a soft gay boy. I'm NOT a soft gay boy. I'm NOT a soft g... » Continue Reading
It’s hard to say when exactly I realized I was lonely. Maybe it was when I was younger and sat on the edge of the playground, watching other kids laugh and chase each other while I stayed close to the nurse’s office. I was the sickly one, the frail kid with too many doctor's notes and too little stamina. The kind of kid adults looked at with a sad smile and a little too much pity. And the kind of ... » Continue Reading