Part One.

I am forcing myself to write. It has been so long since I’ve written anything for myself, which feels like the opening line of much of my writing, but I am sitting down and writing it out. I have no idea where this is going.

Lately, life has felt extra turbulent. The holidays were weird and kind of stale. My birthday is normally something I’m exuberant about but this year I didn’t even want it. I started to go to the gym religiously to cope with my seasonal depression and it sort of works.

I’ve switched medications to try to tackle my mental health and I think we might be onto something which is… good.

The trauma I’ve experienced this year would require a whole book. Stay tuned. No, seriously, are any publishers or agents out there?

I have learned the reality of illusions. Nothing is ever really what it seems, ever. And that leads me to just question everything. Are we all just always questioning everything?

I feel like I’ve been part of the illusions which validate their reality. Are we all just playing roles and switching characters behind the scenes?

I know that, wholly, we’re not. There are genuine people out there who do genuine things and are the same person wherever they lead. However, abuse taints reality. It taints trust, self-image, and self-worth; it turns everything into an illusion. Nothing looks the same once you’ve seen the magician at work. The man behind the curtain, per the Wizard.