Dear Sanity, your cold swift arms of steering reason are gone. Your reality and logic of the left hemisphere that for so little a time ticked like an atomic clock, right on. The clarity of your voice, you pulled me in the correct direction.
For now I don't distinguish what's here from what is not. Fight or Flight is non-stop and my spirit is not shown to me through the transparent glass, but through a fogged and dusty window that will not open on my will. I overthought and overthought until what is not my dream is now top priority. What is at the tip of my mind, seeping in with unstoppable gravity, is everything that is not. Every item that has no meaning, no purpose. I will not say what I speak of for you know so well. It is what you've fought off for years until the agonizing bearing wore you down, down, now to nothing but dust at the bottom of my skull.
The right side is trying its best to help. It is learning to take your place, as if I've had a hemispherectomy. It's alright. Don't feel bad. I may not be sitting at the top of my hierarchy of self actualization, but I'll find a shortcut. I always do.
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