It’s always been about the writing

I feel like my head is about to explode. Like it’s in a vacuum of some sort. Granted, I have malaria currently, and I can’t seem to smell or taste anything. It still feels off to me.

My last post here was about coming back when I had done something different. Safe to say, I didn’t. I am back in Lasgidi.

I am currently in a silence-off with my mother, and I do not feel okay. What to do? What to do? When in doubt, write. So here I am, writing.

Writing is a lost art for me, but I guess it’s time to find myself again. The happiest years I remember were either when I was writing, or wishing I could write more and be more consistent.

I feel a sensation on the left side of my body. I am not sure what okay is anymore.

No tears or trauma, lool. I will leave this place. I have to. And I HAVE DONE ENOUGH OF NOTHING TO BE HERE. I just need to do enough to leave.

Hiding behind a screen, hunger for anonymity, got me nowhere. Still hiding. Still behind a screen. Still… nothing.

No more.

I speak. I write. I see, and I will be seen.

Is she back, or is she not?

I guess we’ll find out.