Crazy Heart

crazy

I collect crazy people. I collect people who know who they are or are trying to find themselves and are willing to admit that they have failings, limitations, foibles, quirks. I collect quality friends who are there through thick and thin and are willing to listen to me in all of my various mental states. I collect the good ones, the people who see beyond skin covered in tattoos to the meaty core of personality. These people are rare, and I love them. 

I made a few new friends recently through school, and it has been glorious. It’s so nice to connect with people without having to work too hard or feel too awkward. Sometimes it’s cliche but true that you just “click” with someone and they truly “get you” right away.

I find community to be very important. I’ve tried to become active on Twitter with other mental health writers, I’m in a very nice Discord group for BPD / Mental Health Support (if you’re looking for a mental health chat leave me a comment and I’ll send you an invite). It’s just nice to be able to start talking about something and not have to explain the whole story.

Last night my friend M and I went for a walk in my neighborhood, down to Lincoln Center and back, just to take in the beautiful night air and the nighttime city sights. We found a corner store with the greatest selection of flowers, including dyed blue roses that I would have bought if I’d brought my wallet with me.

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There is also a guy who has been leaving motivational messages all around the city, a concept that I absolutely adore. We ran into a few of his messages but I liked this one the best:

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And I do, I love my people, my tribe. I have a great tribe. My family is amazing. They are always there to help me when I’m in need, or support me when I’m working hard, or just cheer me on when life gets rough. I wouldn’t have gotten through my move out of the last apartment without my parents. Mom was especially helpful as my back kept freezing up as I was packing so she ended up doing a fair share of the manual labor and actual packing of things. I was more of a directing bystander. I was talking to my therapist this morning and we were both noting how amazing and rare it is to have such supportive parents. I know a lot of my friends cannot say they have the same, so I feel, and I use this word in a secular way if it’s possible, blessed to have such supportive and active parents. Hey guys, I hope you know how much I appreciate you and how much it means to me that you’re always there for me. Thank you from the bottom of my crazy heart.

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