February 26

I want to talk about an eccentric stranger I met during a particularly challenging time in my life. While I only knew him briefly, the words he said to me, the kindness he showed me, had a profound impact on my life. I still think about him today.

I met Jim on my way back from Winnipeg. I was not well. I had spent a week in Winnipeg, which was supposed to be my grand venture into the real world after graduation. It ended up being a disaster because I did not have the foresight to make any sort of real plan. The whole week I was there, I ate a bag of grapes, a couple peanut butter sandwiches, and a cucumber. I didn’t know how to cook or even grocery shop. I was tired and emotionally drained. While I was, for the most part, too scared to leave my hostel, there were a few days that I tried to explore the city. Each time I ended up getting lost and walking around for hours. So when I finally admitted defeat and bought a bus ticket back home, I was feeling pretty low. That’s when I met Jim.

I had been sitting in the bus terminal for a few hours when a little old man walked in, wheeling behind him a small suitcase. I noticed him right away because he was singing a song loud enough for the whole room to hear. Don’t know if it’s a real song, but the gist of it is that Toronto is the greatest city in the world. I don’t agree with that statement but Jim certainly did. I will always remember how friendly he was. At first, I kept my distance and watched from afar. It seemed so bizarre that a man would treat everyone around him as if they were his close personal friends. Over the course of my trip back, I got to know Jim a little better.

We didn’t speak until the bus stopped in Thunder Bay. Everyone piled off the Greyhound bus and into the terminal so they could use the restroom or get something to eat. Jim went into the bathroom to shave. When he came out, her took a seat in the lobby a few feet away from me and he started chatting with the other people around. I can’t quite recall the ins and outs of what he was saying, but it had to do with Jesus. He was preaching the good word. As a devout Christian, Jim believed very passionately that if you followed the teachings of Jesus then you would lead a good life. And according to Jim, Jesus only preached two rules: love God and love your neighbour.

Even though I wasn’t Christian, I liked what he was saying. So I decided to engage. I said, “Oh, that’s interesting. I’m actually reading The Bible right now.” And I pulled out a copy of the King James Bible from my bag. And the strangest thing happened. He started crying. And he hugged me. And said, “God bless you,” over and over again. To this day I don’t know what I did to provoke that reaction in him. I guessed it was because up until then, everyone had been more or less ignoring him.

From that point on, every time Jim passed me on the bus he said “God bless you.” When we stopped in Sudbury, it was about midnight. I just planned on waiting in the lobby, but Jim insisted that I accompany him and another stranger he had befriended to McDonald’s so he could buy me a meal. He wanted to repay me for what I did for him. I didn’t want him to feel obligated to do that, so I tried to refuse. But he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

So with Jim leading the way, we walked down the main drag of Sudbury and tried to go to McDonald’s. Only the drive through was open and despite Jim’s protests, they wouldn’t let us walk through it. So Jim dragged us a bit further down the street to Harvey’s. And even though it was clearly closed, he pounded on the door until the manager came out. I don’t know what he said to the manager, but he somehow convinced him to let us in and order food. While he was having that conversation, I turned to the other stranger next to me – a Yugoslavian man in his forties – and said, “How do you know him?” And the man shrugged and said, “I don’t. He just told me to come with him.”

I tried to ask for just a veggie burger, but Jim insisted that I get a full meal with fries and a pop. The three of us sat down at a table and talked. Jim told me that he had been watching me, and knew that I wasn’t eating very well. He told me about his wife and his home back in Toronto. He also invited me to come to his church if I ever needed food or shelter.

When the bus got into Toronto, they dropped Jim off on a street corner. As the bus pulled away, I could see him standing there, waving at me until eventually he vanished from sight. For a long time, I wondered if that encounter actually happened. It seemed so surreal, so confusing. But the one day I stumbled upon a Youtube video of a crazy old man ranting about Toronto. And it was Jim.

If you’re interested, here’s a link to the video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7XpIJTewu4Q.

February 25

I’ve recently been reading up on the human trafficking/forced adoption/corruption scandal in the UK. If you’re not following the story, there have been several testimonies from children of horrific sexual and psychological abuse by adults in their schools and churches. Worse, there’s also evidence that suggests that this has been going on for a long time and that many criminals are going unpunished in the interest of protecting (or perhaps blackmailing) high ranking officials. Among the list of people being accused of taking part in this massive cover up are members of law enforcement, judges, members of parliament, teachers, and religious officiants.

If you want to read more about this specific case then there is a woman in the UK who is documenting her uphill battle in trying to shed light on what’s happening over there. She is also trying to fight within the legal system on behalf of the children and the parents who have been torn apart without any legal grounds. The children, in this case a brother and sister, have been put in two separate foster homes despite the mother’s ability and desire to provide genuine care for them. The woman championing their cause is Sabine McNeill and her website is https://whistleblowerkids.wordpress.com/. I encourage you to spend some time learning about what is happening overseas in the UK, because I assure you it’s a global problem and it affects us here in Canada.

The reason I’m writing this on my blog and not in a Facebook post, is because it’s relevant. It directly relates to some of the experiences I had when I was psychotic.

When I first became aware of the human trafficking and ritualized abuse that is taking place in the world, I was 18 years old. I found out at first from a conspiracy website and then after some digging, from more credible sources. And I was livid. Yes, I was partly outraged on moral grounds. Partly upset that I was ignorant for so long. But also, the psychotic part of me felt like the people I knew were involved in this cover up. Paranoia. I also felt this strangely protective instinct rising up in me, an almost righteous indignation that someone dare do such vile things to my fellow humans.

As my psychosis worsened, the actual facts of this story got overwhelmed by my confusion and I turned into a full-blown conspiracy theorist. Complete with garbage bags taped over my window to keep the spy cameras out. That’s not to say that some conspiracy theories aren’t true, or are true, but I couldn’t discern for myself what was real and what wasn’t. When I was taken to the hospital for the first time, I was convinced that people were trying to shut me up because I was getting too close to the truth. That’s why I didn’t want to be on medication, and also why I went off it later (among other reasons). I didn’t trust the people who would be dosing me.

Now, this could have been handled better in my opinion. But the way my doctor approached me when I refused medication was by telling me, “You don’t have to take the medication. But I can keep you in here (the hospital) until I think you’re well enough to leave. And you won’t recover unless you’re on medication. Eventually, if you keep refusing, I can get security to help you take your medication.”

Now, for someone who is convinced that people are trying to shut me up and make me forget about what I know – hearing a veiled threat like that is not reassuring. And I never forgot it. I did eventually take my medication and stay on it for a few years, but then once I felt stable I went off it. Why? Because I never fully understood what the medication did for me or why I needed it. I didn’t trust the people caring for me, because they were the ones who forced me to be on it. They were the ones who never, not once, tried to figure out what I was talking about.

So when I had my second psychotic episode, I was very hostile to everyone around me. I didn’t want to forget again. I didn’t want to be “calmed down”. I had to be taken in by the police, and when I got there I shut down and refused to answer any questions. I spent seven hours in a small room with a double-sided mirror (which I believed at the time was an interrogation room) as nurses tried to figure out what was going on in my mind. In the background, someone was screaming in horror and banging on the wall which sounded a lot to my mind like someone being tortured. I was really scared. Now, maybe if I had been the least bit lucid I could have logically explained where I was coming from but I wasn’t. I was psychotic. So I yelled and screamed and accused everyone of massive corruption. Eventually though, the trauma of being held in that room and fearing for my life wore me down. It was 2:00am when I finally agreed to take a sedative.

After that, I was much more cooperative, but still psychotic. I didn’t understand what was going on, but because of the meds they had given me, I didn’t care. I accepted that I had just had a psychotic break and that was all there was to it. And I’ve been encouraged ever since by every nurse and doctor I’ve seen to put this behind me so that I can move forward and not dwell on painful experiences. I saw where they were coming from, but I always believed that maybe when I was better, I could make a worthwhile contribution to this cause.

Well, now I’m better. And while I’m not a lawyer, or a therapist, or a police officer – I am a writer. So I can tell you that my delusions stemmed from a place of truth. I can tell you that human trafficking is a very real problem. It happens everywhere, including right here in Hamilton. Ritualized sexual abuse, another huge problem. The first thing you can do is learn about what’s going on.

Thanks for listening.

February 24

Some memories surfaced today that I’d like to talk about. I recalled how I felt toward the people who were closest on the sidelines during my psychotic episodes. While when healthy, I love and trust these people more than anything, when psychotic I feel no connection to them at all. They become like strangers to me, and I’m left wondering why these strangers are so involved in my life and how I can escape from them. I’m aware that the stranger plays x role in my life, and I remember my history with them, yet the empathic connection I normally feel towards them is severed. In other words, I know they’re not strangers but it feels like they are.

I imagine that it’s kind of a bitch to be in that position. Someone you feel very close to suddenly wants nothing to do with you, suddenly acts like you’re their enemy, that you’re someone to be feared or hated. I can understand that point of view. All I can do for those people, should they choose to stick it out and remain a part of my life, is clarify that it was nothing they said or did that caused the rift. In fact, if I allowed them to become so close to me then they’ve probably treated me with great kindness and respect. The trouble starts when paranoia creeps in. The paranoia by definition is not warranted, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. Except get treatment, of course… but the same problem surfaces when I don’t trust the doctors and nurses who are trying to treat me.

The first thing I do when I start feeling psychotic symptoms is pull away from people. The best way I can describe what it feels like to have a psychotic break is like coming out of a coma and waking up in an entirely different world. You feel like you’ve been hypnotized into a deep sleep for your whole life, and then suddenly you’re awake. Everything looks different, everything looks harsher. Everything feels foreign, including the people surrounding you. You find yourself wondering why they’ve let you sleep so long. Like they are the ones responsible for your “sanity” – which now seems like naivety or ignorance. Are they trying to control you? Are they only pretending to care about you? Has anything they’ve said to you been the truth? Do you really even know them at all? That’s the way the mind – my mind – works when it’s experiencing psychosis. So it’s easy to imagine that someone in that situation would be wary of everything around them.

For the Buffy the Vampire Slayer fans – do you remember when Buffy was resurrected? She woke up in a coffin, alone. Had to claw her way out, and when she emerged the world she faced was completely different than the world she left. She thought that she was in Hell. And admittedly, that was one of my delusions when I was psychotic. I thought I was evil and had been sentenced to eternal fear, distrust, and confusion as my own personalized form of Hell.

I’m blessed that I have a few close friends who are able to understand why my behavior changes when I’m unwell. I like to think that the person they knew before the psychosis was so special, they’re willing to wait around until that person comes back. But not everyone’s like that, and over the years a lot my friends have fled from our relationship. I wish I could say “good riddance”, but I understand where they’re coming from. No one should have to subject themselves to another person’s toxicity. I do wish, though, that those people could see me for the nuanced person I am today.

But for now I’m just going to appreciate who is in my life.

February 23

Lately I’ve been questioning my spiritual beliefs. My disorder presents obstacles toward maintaining any sort of belief that is not rational. Most people develop their spiritual beliefs over time, often relying on intuition to help them make sense of things. The problem I’ve had is that I’ve spent a significant time being fully psychotic. During that time, I communicated with what I thought were higher beings and developed a host of strong spiritual beliefs that were deconstructed and discouraged through therapy.

One of the symptoms of psychosis is looking to your environment for signs and clues. Ask any believer in a higher power, and they’ll tell you that in times of crisis they’ve done the same thing. What is the point of believing in a higher power if you can’t turn to them at difficult times? There is a very fine, almost blurry distinction between psychotic thought and spiritual belief. Both spiritual belief and psychotic delusions are based on feelings or thoughts or emotions and not scientific fact.

I asked my counselor how I can accommodate my need for spirituality while not crossing over into delusional territory and she said this: “Some people build sand castles in the sky, and others live in them.” In other words, if your beliefs aren’t taking over your life and causing you or others all sorts of problems – then by all means, keep them. Be open to change, don’t cement your sand castle, but play around with those ideas. It’s natural to wonder about the afterlife, and what’s out there, but its unhealthy to upend your entire world view to the point where nothing is recognizable, nothing makes sense, and you’re left feeling scared and confused. I came away from that conversation believing that if I could find a way to reconcile what I know to be true and what my gut tells me is true, then it is acceptable to indulge in spiritual beliefs.

There have been times when holding spiritual beliefs has helped me endure through painful experiences. For example, when I was hospitalized I prayed every night. I didn’t know what I was praying to, if anyone or anything was listening, but I felt that if there was a higher power my words would find a way to reach it. I was scared, and praying gave me comfort. Similarly, one of my roommates was physically as well as mentally sick and she asked me to pray for her and I did. The next day she had recovered from her physical illness and firmly believed that it was because of my prayer that she recovered. I’m not saying she’s right (because I don’t think she is), but holding that belief brought her feelings of comfort that ultimately helped her endure her traumatic stay in the hospital. So even if spiritual beliefs may not be correct, there is some merit to listening to your intuition.

I recently discussed this with my boyfriend. Often times, I will tell him of a strange coincidence or event and he will assure me that whatever happened can be explained by science and the chances of it happening are probably not as slim as I think they are. This is what I told him: It doesn’t matter that these things can be explained logically. Of course they can, that’s what allows them to happen in the first place. If they couldn’t be explained by science then we’re ignorant as to an aspect of science or as to what actually happened. That being said, there can be both a spiritual and scientific explanation for an event that doesn’t contradict. It is my belief that whatever higher powers or spiritual forces there are, work through the physical laws of our universe to bring us face to face with certain people, certain places, certain times and certain events for an ultimately spiritual gain.

Keeping that in mind, let me explain the conclusions I’ve come to regarding the strange phenomena that occurred when I was psychotic. For example, when I was hearing voices and I believed to be communicating with higher powers, I wasn’t necessarily wrong. The schizophrenia was the scientific explanation for hearing the voices, but who is to say that I wasn’t born with schizophrenia partly so I could receive messages from higher powers? The best way I can describe how I received the messages was like tuning a radio frequency. There was a lot of garbled noises and static, but phrases and sentiments filtered through. That is exactly how psychics describe communicating with spirits. Did the messages make sense? No. Where did the messages come from? Scientifically, hallucinations and thought disorder. But spiritually, maybe I was psychically eavesdropping. Both can be true. And in my opinion, holding the belief that I have made contact with higher powers is more beneficial than detrimental to me. Therefore, I’ve come to the logical conclusion that I will keep those beliefs until I’m convinced otherwise.

Just to be clear, I am not saying that the messages I received were correct or that I even interpreted them correctly, but I am saying that the impact of communicating with what I believed to be higher powers had a profound effect on me that has ultimately led me toward the path I need to be on. I believe that there was a spiritual force behind it, therefore it is not a big leap to believe that there was some actual spiritual contact.

While it might seem like a big headache to be constantly doubting and questioning yourself, I believe that going through psychosis has ultimately forced me to evolve. It has opened my mind, allowed me to understand other people’s perspectives, and accept the fact that I might one day be proven wrong about everything I believe. I am humbled. I am grateful. And I am more secure than ever in the belief that there could be a reason for all this nonsense.

February 22

It’s been a tough few weeks for me. My mood has been steadily dipping and I’m faced with regular panic attacks as more and more memories surface. I’m still working through the trauma of psychosis. Worse, everything got upended when I learned my grandmother had terminal cancer. We received the call while we were six hours into our trip to Florida, so we ended up turning around and I’ve spent my reading week at home watching Law and Order: Special Victims Unit. My grandmother ended up passing sometime in her sleep a few days ago.

Not surprisingly my mood plunged after we got that call and my stress levels skyrocketed, manifesting in physical ways like nausea, insomnia and headaches. But I didn’t want to repeat the cycle, so I reached out to my close friend and my boyfriend and told them what I was going through. They came over every other day, texting me regularly and offering their support. Leaning on them, I was able to stay relatively stable until I could get in to see my psychiatrist. Some adjustment to my medication and enrollment in a cognitive behavioural therapy group and I’m already feeling calmer and happier. In fact, my mood has been a solid 8/10 this weekend.

I’m not very concerned about my anniversary anymore. My psychiatrist explained that what I’m going through with these memories and panic attacks is normal. She validated my experiences by telling my that psychosis is a traumatic event – and in my case I was in a warzone – and it takes time to recover. The best thing I can do is look forward and try not to dwell on the past.

So, that’s what I’m doing. What I’m looking forward to? Going out to sushi with my friends and family, eating birthday cake, the new Sims 4 expansion pack, and the next Law and Order episode because I’m hooked! Oh, and finally getting back to work on my creative writing.

February 10

So I’m about a month away from my dreaded anniversary and I’m doing well. Every now and then something will shake me and I’ll panic, maybe have an anxiety attack. But I can always talk myself down, or be talked down by my boyfriend. He’s a good shoulder to lean on. Other than those fleeting panicky moments, I’ve kept a level head and continued on with my life.

I try not to dwell on my negative experiences, but it’s impossible and probably very unhealthy to completely repress those memories. And when they surface, it hurts like hell. All I have to do is hear a certain word or phrase, and it will jog a memory, and it’s like I’m right back there. I can hear the helicopters following me wherever I went. I can feel my heart racing and legs aching as I ran through the neighbourhood to escape people I thought were chasing me. I can remember how I felt as I listened to the voices in my head insult me, taunt me, threaten me, and criticise every thought and action of mine. I remember not being able to understand what anyone said to me and how frustrating that felt. I remember sneaking out of my house at 2:00am in the middle of winter in an attempt to kill myself, and I remember collapsing in a pile of snow and saying “idiot, idiot, idiot” over and over again because I failed. I remember that I thought I was Satan, and I deserved to feel the way I did.

I’m really hesitant to describe this on my blog because I don’t want people to be bummed out, and I don’t want to feel sorry for myself. But then I remind myself that I started this blog so that I could heal, and I could document the process of healing. Yes, people tell me that they read it and it has helped them, but I am mostly doing this for myself. So while some of these entries may be tough to read, I need to write them.

I will say that as horrible as those experiences were (and I’ve only scraped the surface of that trauma), I wouldn’t trade them for anything. Sure, on a bad day I feel like hell. But on a good day? I feel like a survivor. I’m not the same person I was when I went into this. I’ve gained a lot of wisdom and broadened my perspective on life. I’ve met a lot of amazing, strong and kind people who have helped me deal with my disorder. And while I wouldn’t wish psychosis on my worst enemy, I also say a daily prayer of gratitude thanking the universe for giving me an amazing life.

I feel better now that I’ve gotten that off my chest. It’s tough carrying around this baggage and trying to stay positive. But tonight I got rid of a few pounds of carry on, and it feels good.

#BellLetsTalk – January 28

So today’s the day that the Bell Let’s Talk initiative is running on Twitter. I wanted to support it by using the hashtag, but it’s hard to really say anything significant about mental health in 140 characters.

For those of you who read my blog, you’ll know that I talk about my experiences with mental health pretty frequently. You might be surprised to know that I very rarely bring it up in my day to day life. Most people who know I have a disorder learned that when the CBC article came out. The most frequent response I get when telling someone I have schizophrenia is, “Wow. You would never know!”

The truth is, being schizophrenic doesn’t hold me back from doing much. I’m an A-level student (when I put the effort in), I have passions and hobbies, and if I’m comfortable with you I can carry on a conversation for hours. The biggest aspect of my mental illness that affects me is my anxiety. Anxiety over being judged. Anxiety over being rejected. And okay, sometimes anxiety that I’ll randomly get hit by a car on my way home from a comedy show. The point is, I’m just like everyone else. Because when I’m on my meds and not experiencing psychotic symptoms, then I’m considered by doctors to be healthy. Not mentally ill.

This might tick “normal” people off, but I actually have more opportunities available to me because of my illness. The reason for that is because I have “lived experience”. I have a first hand knowledge of what it’s like to be psychotic, manic, depressed, and suicidal. Better yet, I know how to get past all of those challenges because I’ve done it myself. It’s not just in my personal life where this experience comes in handy. I’ve gotten paying work simply because of the way my brain is wired. Having schizophrenia isn’t always a bad thing.

Here’s what I’ll say about stigma. For a long time I lived in denial of my condition. I didn’t understand how I – an intelligent, reasonable person – could be crazy. It was only after I educated myself about what schizophrenia is that I realized it’s nothing to be ashamed or afraid of. The people who knew me understood that better than I did. Once I accepted myself and my disorder, then it became a lot easier to talk about it with other people.

So #BellLetsTalk .

January 20 – March Looms Closer

Well we’re almost in February. It’s about forty odd days until my birthday. I’m not very excited. I’ve spent two birthdays in my hospital celebrating jointly a new year and a new psychotic episode. And really I’m only twenty two, so the ratio of birthdays spent psychotic to not isn’t what I’d like it to be.

It starts in the winter when the days get short and the nights are cold. I get gloomy and I stop going out. Then around the New Year I get anxious. And then right around my birthday it hits me. Well, it’s happened twice. I don’t think it will happen again this year, but I’m not expecting it to be a great time either. I’m turning twenty three. Time flies on.

My first episode took place in 2011, late February. I went in a week before my nineteenth birthday and stayed there a week past. It was by far the most confusing, exhausting experience in my short life. The second episode took place last year, early March. Just a few days after my twenty second birthday. And it lasted more than a month. Despite the coverage that episode got, it was the less painful of the two. I more or less enjoyed my time in the hospital, when I wasn’t hysterical.

This year I’ve been staying active and going for walks every day. I’m writing and attending class, keeping on top of assignments. So I’m pretty secure. My doctor is impressed with how I’m doing. It probably won’t happen this year.

My ultimate birthday wish? Oh, of course it would have to be to get a letter from Conan. I’m too shy for a hug. I would hug Andy though.

Well, that’s what I’ll be thinking about until I’m out of what I call the “red zone.” It covers January 1 to March 10.  When I emerge on the other side of this, I’ll be twenty three and hopefully a free, sane woman. :)

January 13 – Trucking’ On

So I’m one week into second semester here at Mac. Liking all my classes so far. In particular, my Moral Issues class. Philosophy can be very interesting. I’m one of those keeners who sit in the front row and ask a lot of questions, to the point where the prof starts ignoring them (as he did to me today). It’s frustrating because I had a great question to ask, holding on to it for twenty minutes, then some other kid asks that question. My question. …I would have asked it better…

The 9:30am class times are hard to pull off, but I’m doing it. Coffee helps. Also, it gives me plenty of time to work on my story. Speaking of my story, I’ve updated the page Peach in Time. Chapters 1-8 are now available. If you haven’t read anything about this story yet, then I’ll just quickly sum it up as a queercentric, female heavy time travel adventure aimed at young adults. It’s a fun read. I’m having a great time writing it. If you want to know more about what inspired it or where it’s headed, then I’ll talk your ear off. Just buy me a coffee. :)

I’m also being very social. Getting out more, meeting new people. I’ve decided to put off having a serious relationship until I’m ready to have one, which might be a few years down the road. Right now I want to focus on finishing college, publishing a book and being sane for more than a year. So anyway, last night I went to a comedy show for the first time in months. Ceilidh House on Monday night, always a good time. I saw all my favourite comics whom I love and adore. Matt, Moses, Jordan, Gavin, Manolis, Anthony, Isi, Nick. And some I didn’t know. A few of the regulars were missing, yes, but I’ll just have to go to another show soon.

The last update I have is just to say, I’m keeping up with my exercise regimen: 10 minute walks, 3x a day. It’s not hard and I’ll occasionally step it up with a 30 or 40 minute walk. Sometime if I feel peppy or it’s cold outside, then I’ll jog the last part of my walk. I’m hoping that in a month or so, I can add in the escarpment stairs once a week.

Looking forward to reading week. Talk to you later!

January 8 – Maintaining Writing, Studying and Exercise Goals

Well, usually by this point my new year’s resolutions have worn off. But lucky this year, I didn’t make any. Instead, I just started developing the habit of going for walks, attending class, and writing every day. On my free days, I like to paint. Things are going well.

Exercise: My doctor agrees that it’s better to go for a 10 minute walk 3x a day, rather than go for a 30 minute walk 1x day. So, even though I’ve been freezing my butt off, I’ve been out for a walk morning, noon, and evening. I can’t say if it’s made any difference yet, but my jacket is fitting better. I can also wear a layer of tights under my jeans, so that’s a bonus. Especially since it’s supposed to feel like -30 with windchill.

Writing: Right now I’m devoting most of my creative attention to working on a queer time travel novel called Peach in Time. I’m posting it chapter by chapter on this blog. Just go to the menu and click on “Peach in Time”. The chapters are posted as pdfs on that page.

Class: I have three classes right now. I’m handling them well. I only have one tutorial, which is ballin’ because I don’t like tutorials. My teachers all seem to be relatively intelligent, engaging and friendly. One female (who has taught me before) and two males. The classes are Media Organizations, Communication Past and Present, and Moral Issues. Should be a fun semester, despite having a three hour evening class on Mondays. On Mondays, I’m on campus from 9:30am to 10:00pm. The key is coffee.

Art: My living room is hosting my current artwork, though I plan to move it up to my bedroom tonight. I just finished a large painting that I’ll be posting on here once I’ve worked with it digitally.

That’s all for now. Feel free to read my story!