The Bloody Doors Off

I get that there’s an imbalance. The chemical soup misfires neurons (or doesn’t) and causes unpredictability.

As a result, I get sad, I get paranoid. I made bad decisions. I second-guess good decisions.

It’s a learning curve, and I’m doing the best I can. Medications are taken daily, the doctor is visited weekly. This blog is written in daily, even if it’s just saying that I can’t put words down and, like a stale Family Guy joke, I throw to a youtube clip of Conway Twitty.

The thing is, I’m trying.

All I ask in return is, every so often allow me a little piece of mind. And maybe help with the rewrites to the play.

Love,

me.