It’s a strange feeling, going crazy. Like the world is tilting sideways, and no one else can see it, and you’re this close to falling over and hurting yourself. And trying to regain your balance is pretty fucking hard without help.
I had help.
My esteemed friend did a lot of taking. The result is that I feel less like I’m careening off a cliff, at least. But the strange thing is this: I wrote about what was happening to me in my current fan fiction story. I wrote about a character who had their entire sense of self kicked out from under them, and how they had to find whatever was left and recover.
It’s bizarre, and something of a revelation, to have the solution to an existential crisis in something you wrote months ago.
But I’m still here. Maybe I’m not the same person I was last week, but I will adapt. I will not write the same things, and maybe my obsession with writing about identity will lessen, but I WILL write.
I will write.
Hopefully you guys will keep reading.