I am with my family. There is only a certain self I can be with my family, there is no room here for euphoria or psychosis or passion or despair. I am quiet, I am polite, I am agreeable, I volunteer little. Inside, though, I am wound up, agitated, I want to pace, I feel wild. This may have something to do with the fact that I have been drinking wine all evening, and it may also have something to do with the fact that I haven’t taken my medication since I have been here. It wasn’t intentional, just a failure in routine, but now I have stopped taking it I don’t want to take it again, because this agitation feels at least more real and more alive than my recent state of only having feelings in the distance, and not even knowing what those feelings are.

 

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