I imagine emotional triggers like waves crashing over me in a rough ocean. I’m swimming in a beach, somewhere with warm water and white sand. The water is just deep enough for my feet to reach the bottom. I float like a buoy, in rhythm with the water.
I feel like my purpose in life now is to shine a glaringly bright light on mental illness. I feel that by helping others out of that dark place is the best and most powerful way to truly honour my sister.
If only there was a switch to mute these critical internal voices. If only I could open the squeaky doors behind my skull and examine my brain as if it were a recording studio filled with buttons and dials. Once I’m there, I could see which one of them were dialled to the max and gently bring it down.
I don’t want to blink and suddenly be 90 years old sitting in an old folks home saying to the nurses, “well time sure flies doesn’t it!” I want to say, “wow cool I’m still alive. I can even still remember each decade of my life with vibrancy and detail!” At least try my best anyway. Surely there’s a way to make time at least feel a little slower?