I wish I had a healing factor so that I could read. I went from depressed to the point of tardive, to the craving of women’s mead. The source I once thought I’d desperately need. I thought I had to guzzle. I thought the nectar would heal. I don’t really know how she would feel.
I’m schizophrenic. This illness has conquered. However must I share or tell? This illness ripped me, this illness tore me; however must I feel right now?
I wish I had a healing factor so that I could read again. Something to mend the severed neurons, the dendrites to the end. I want to read again without struggle, to write absurdism again, to laugh silently again. I WANT TO DO MATH AGAIN!