Is it mania or ibs

It's a February afternoon, dreary and unromantic and relentlessly cold.

I keep having images of Persephone. Alone but happy, I keep playing mental reels about death and rebirth in the wake of it.

The first autofill Google search that comes up when you type "Persephone" is "was she good or evil"

how hilarious.

I spent around 60 hours crafting a thesis about the femme fatale, destined to be man's destruction.

But... She's not.

Persephone is plagued and cursed with power over Man.

I looked at myself in the mirror today. on a whim.

A fantastical and stupid whim built on the idea that I would recognize the person who stared at me back.

I didn’t know her.

I knew her experiences. I knew she was in her robotic-semi-manic-depressive era that she saw no end to.

I knew her high school years were ones filled with neglect and confusion.

I knew she had a happy childhood

and I knew she never felt she

belonged.

I’m not misunderstood, I’m just not alright.

I don’t stand straight up

and I don’t look up and down, my moral compass points me sideways.

I don’t have the luxury of being misunderstood.

instead,

I crave authenticity.

Is it for myself or from others?

I'm still trying to figure that part out.

sent from my iPhone.