the raw of real

By the time I woke up this morning, it was almost one in the afternoon. I got up and took a shower. Adam joined me after a few minutes. I was feeling sore and depressed. My throat felt jagged and I tasted blood still. Part of me hoped it would not become infected.
PMS shadowed my brain. Small things upset me. Catamenial seizures scrape me raw from the inside out, dip me into waters of depression just enough to draw the shadows like robes around me. Outside the sun was shining; I needed the sun. Adam and I drove to a local bagel deli for breakfast. We visited some old friends of his afterwards.
We are at Charlotte and Billy's house now. I am too exhausted to think much; seizure recovery can last hours or days. I had to read over my last entry and correct a few errors. I do not really remember it. It is a fascinating read. There are several comments praising the beauty and the intense description. Yes, that is true.
If I could remember everything I write during seizures, I could probably write poetry again.
My aura wraps around me like ribbons -- psychic aura, not pre-seizure aura -- and it is full of bright, warm colors. I try to lead them into my throat, to heal. I imagine clear quartz crystals, amethysts, emeralds, and amber, stones of healing.

the raw of real

By the time I woke up this morning, it was almost one in the afternoon. I got up and took a shower. Adam joined me after a few minutes. I was feeling sore and depressed. My throat felt jagged and I tasted blood still. Part of me hoped it would not become infected.
PMS shadowed my brain. Small things upset me. Catamenial seizures scrape me raw from the inside out, dip me into waters of depression just enough to draw the shadows like robes around me. Outside the sun was shining; I needed the sun. Adam and I drove to a local bagel deli for breakfast. We visited some old friends of his afterwards.
We are at Charlotte and Billy's house now. I am too exhausted to think much; seizure recovery can last hours or days. I had to read over my last entry and correct a few errors. I do not really remember it. It is a fascinating read. There are several comments praising the beauty and the intense description. Yes, that is true.
If I could remember everything I write during seizures, I could probably write poetry again.
My aura wraps around me like ribbons -- psychic aura, not pre-seizure aura -- and it is full of bright, warm colors. I try to lead them into my throat, to heal. I imagine clear quartz crystals, amethysts, emeralds, and amber, stones of healing.

the raw of real

By the time I woke up this morning, it was almost one in the afternoon. I got up and took a shower. Adam joined me after a few minutes. I was feeling sore and depressed. My throat felt jagged and I tasted blood still. Part of me hoped it would not become infected.
PMS shadowed my brain. Small things upset me. Catamenial seizures scrape me raw from the inside out, dip me into waters of depression just enough to draw the shadows like robes around me. Outside the sun was shining; I needed the sun. Adam and I drove to a local bagel deli for breakfast. We visited some old friends of his afterwards.
We are at Charlotte and Billy's house now. I am too exhausted to think much; seizure recovery can last hours or days. I had to read over my last entry and correct a few errors. I do not really remember it. It is a fascinating read. There are several comments praising the beauty and the intense description. Yes, that is true.
If I could remember everything I write during seizures, I could probably write poetry again.
My aura wraps around me like ribbons -- psychic aura, not pre-seizure aura -- and it is full of bright, warm colors. I try to lead them into my throat, to heal. I imagine clear quartz crystals, amethysts, emeralds, and amber, stones of healing.