You really have to swim down into yourself when you’re writing, which is why people confuse it all with mental illness.
A schmaltzy, eerily familiar tune that loops along, accordions swelling and shrinking, high-heeled, lipsticked women la-la-la-la-la-la-ing.
I’m afraid of contributing to the stigma of mental illness by telling this story.
We wanted to make a good impression. Maybe even to launch a conversation.
Off his meds, Daniel went to a bar, got spooked, and lost his temper.
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