May 1st
You might like to call my disappearance a hiatus, I’d much rather call it trying to sort out my head and the buzz of activity that was swirling within it, leaving me feeling deliriously hopeless. Am I fixed? No, I wouldn’t say that, but I know that I’m no longer completely broken, and feel as though I’m on the mend.
It’s strange that at my lowest point I was unable to pick up my pen and scrawl all that was swelling within and around me. For 3 months my pen faltered with each uncertain beat of my heart, as though it would give up trying to keep me here at any unannounced moment. And it was that fistful of flesh that taught me the most important lesson of all: not everything is in my hands.