Everything everything everything is triggering. The guy on the street, the old picture, the waistband of my skirt, the pastry display, the innocuous comment, the dredged up memory, the box of journals under my bed.
Sick was simple. Everything was distilled and bottled and contained. Linear, even if the line was going straight down.
Healthy is decisions and plans and alternatives and pills and processing and caring and never-ending. . . stuff. Healthy means there are things existing outside of myself and my own brain and I don't know what to do with them.