I'm stressed. I'm starting to have panic attacks again, despite the SSRIs that are flooding my system. I have too much homework. I work too much. My therapist increased the number of times a month that I go to see her. My landlord is refusing to cooperate with me on bills that cover days that I wasn't even renting from her. Today, I had a manic fit of stress, during which I talked incessantly and laughed at everything.
But it's okay.
I'm writing again.
It's prose, this time. And I think I'm really going to polish some of it. Try to get it published, even. Because it's not as depressing as my poetry used to be. I think some of it has the potential to be quite good when all is said and done.
And that's enough for me.
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