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I pull out my notebook and everyone is awestruck at how I can write on regular paper with a non-electric pen and magically upload it to my phone and with a click I can turn my handwriting into editable text.
Depression isn't weakness, but I don't feel strong. Depression is clawing her way back into my consciousness. Usually she dwells in a spot hidden away, and when I put her back she stays there for a while. This time, it's like the lock is broken and she is not staying put.
I allowed a seed of anxiety to grow and take roots in other parts of my psyche. It is kind of like when a tree brings water up through its roots to nurture itself, only in a much more fucked up and non-poetic kind of way.
and all the rest
In an emergency call 911
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