I always get inspired looking at my bookshelf. I have always been a reader, but for many years, with schizophrenia, reading made me too nervous and I was unable to do it. Until last summer. For some reason I was able to rise above my discomfort and read a few paragraphs at a time. I opened an account with Amazon and began ordering some new books and just a few old favorites - ones I had lost copies of during my years of purging my possessions. My journals are more sane now too. Thank God. When I was really sick I made notebook after notebook of scrap and writing, and I was going through them last weekend and I was just dismayed at how crazy they were. I remembered how it felt to have my writing hijacked like that, by insanity. It was really hard. My journals at best are just entries about everyday life. Yesterday I wrote about an injured baby bird I found in the kitchen. It had come from the fireplace. I write a lot of grief-stricken stuff about my former life, when I had a fairly normal mind and a lot of ability, which gets really boring to read, actually, But read it I do, because I'm trying to discover where and when I'm not doing ok and when it's fine. I will allow myself the grief for a few more months, then I will want to see some variety in my feelings and thought.
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June 2017
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