Somewhere along the way, the meaning changed. My name became synonymous with mockery, to the point where hearing it actually hurt.
Here’s something you might not want to hear: nobody owes your their response.
The feeling of drifting, of existing rather than living, as though life is merely happening to you and not with you, is probably one of the most unsettling experiences I’ve ever been through.
My battle with sleep is a tale as old as time. If I want to fall asleep, I’m chronically awake. If I want to wake up, I’m an immovable, eternal entity.
What makes a good artist? I think this is a much more helpful question than its more popular counterpart, ‘what makes good art?’
I’ve long been fascinated by the acknowledgement of internalized negativity, by the idea that the authors of the narratives we grow up believing are not necessarily the Pulitzer prize-winners we assume them to be.