Let me tell you something.
At this moment, just as I was yesterday, I was stuck in this same bed vomiting my guts out.
The doctor asked me to stay home and religiously take my medicines. This is just the second day, and I totally forgot his instructions.
I wanted to write something. I am not a writer, but maybe there can be someway where I could write. I remember when I was younger, I write on every imaginable scrap of paper. Lose thoughts. Emotions. Lyrics.
Random doodles. Writing my name over and over and over again. Not for anyone, but for me.
Maybe, there is some truth in the psychology of self-talk. And maybe, there is some sense in writing this.
This is the start.
