Lucidity is hard
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- Parts 3
MatureOngoing18m
Last published Tue, Mar 2, 2021
Is it crazy to give in to love and run away from your own madness?
But what's crazy?
It's hard to distinguish the real from the imaginary. It's hard to tell the physical from the psychic.
It's hard to distinguish desire from passion.
Easier to accept one's own madness or the madness of living a love... Yes, lucidity is hard, holy crap!
In the midst of a traumatic and painful hospitalization, she was able to find the beginning of her release by giving wings to an impossible but liberating passion at the same time. Liberating to restart living her life in contact with the reality necessary for her recovery...
The days spent with the author in a psychiatric clinic allowed me to discover and try to unravel the most hidden side of our mind and soul. They were experiences lived during a treatment that bordered the limit of our sanity. Identifying what is part of our mental illness or our personality can cause us despair or peace in a short period of time, another 24 hours for all of us!
You only accept treatment if you're not afraid or ashamed to know your own self. And she is not afraid right now. She was reluctant. Supported. She gave herself up. She surrendered. Loved... And then she opened the doors of her inner house. Doors open to get to know your best and your worst.
Dear friend, with affection.
Kisses
Fer
All Rights Reserved
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"There comes a point where you no longer care if there's a light at the end of the tunnel or not. You're just sick of the tunnel." - Who I am doesn't matter. How I got here doesn't matter. What matters now is I'm getting help, right? That's what they tell me here. They tell me that the road to recovery feels like a terrible butt fuck, but the fact that you're on the path to begin with, is all that matters. So as I sit in this circle of fuck ups, I realize just how different I am from them. I didn't attempt suicide because my mother was a crack addict who didn't want me. My father wasn't abusive. I didn't have a sibling die in a car accident. I was never really bullied either. I attempted suicide because, for the first time in years, I thought I had found something that could make me feel again... and after not feeling much at all for far too long, perhaps I went a bit overboard
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