I know I’ve always been able to form very honest and sincere looking words. Actually writing them for the first time and putting myself on the page and seeing myself?
The ‘why’ that’s going to hold out for me is that if I’m not embodying this then I might as well not be here. What the fuck is the point of staying alive if I’m not going to try to make the world around me better in even a small way?
This isn’t another post about discipline, or work ethic. I said yesterday that I know what I have to do. This is a post about a depression.
“-when I came back I thought, ‘I guess I’m gonna give this another shot.’ It took a lot of work. A lot of work. It was making the decision that instead of ignoring the fact that I have a certain brain chemistry I decided to do what I could to get better.”
While most of my improv class is hilarious, there’s one person there who isn’t, but she may be the most important.
The heart of it was always going to be in the humans desperately fixated on the screen hungry for that connection.
Say if you’re a Gryffindor, it means you can be brave and bold, but sometimes we’re Neville Longbottom and need to rise to that occasion and grow into that.