I did. I wrote a silly story. It wasn’t much, but it felt like a victory. I recently had to start taking psychoactive medications and, if myths are to be believed, those little fuckers take away your creative spark, your force d’anima. I wrote a story anyway, and a pretty good one at that.

I don’t know how to describe what it feels like to know that I am not my mental illness, nor is my creativity. I, and what I possess, that Robin Williams would call my ‘little spark of madness’, we are not the misfiring happening in the lunch meat inside my skull. We are not a symptom.

I like writing with as few words as necessary, and as many words as unneeded.