I’ve written about madness; about existential angst, breakfast of champions, a beautiful mind, the house episode about genius and the robotussin cure. Nearly all problems in life are life itself. But if you can’t connect with other people, if the smell of spring isn’t something you can share with each other, what binds you and others? Love?

I fear that the majority of my relationships are the combination of my compassion, physical attraction, and enough personality correlation to like each other. The implication that the madness that exists between this and my emotions is something I have to treat as a disability is traumatizing in itself. Today was long, and it took a lot to keep my feelings away from those who don’t want to know them.