When you can’t talk about your experiences and subsequent mental illness… you hide it. I spent my life trying to patch the holes with all sorts of disguise; fading into the background, embodying a subservient worker bee, coating my exhausted face with layers of paint. In hindsight, to pacify other people and fit into the “healthy herd.” 

Did it ever really work? Nah, motherfuckers. Nobody has ever called this walking war against self “healthy or happy-looking” until I actually got a grip on positive living. And that was like… right now. 

Sorry for the nature-sounds; trying a new walk and talk format. Hope you enjoy ambient bird calls and bugs screaming. If you don’t… shout it out. traumatizedmotherfxckers@gmail.com 

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