stabbing a practically-inkless pen deep into the veins of a blue-bound journal. trapped in an empty room. just my books, my mind, and a desk with a view of an all-too-familiar reflection. "manic," they called it. an "episode." but I remember every step, every moan, every realization: in the hospital--especially that first night--I came to understand: my whole life had been leading the way to those moments. but here--in this now--all I can do is wait... with love always.