I’m gonna get real here for a minute. Sometimes, I’d rather just sleep. Let’s face it, life is hard, it sucks, and when dealing with my depression and bipolar, it makes sleep a valid option and a necessary evil.
Whether it’s healthy or not, who knows. It works for me. There’s something deep-seeded and primordial that lives within me. And in order to relieve that pressure, I use various forms of therapy to help. One of those forms of therapy is listening to deep, throaty, guitar-heavy, angry, passionate music. It’s like I’m a pressure cooker, and filling my ears with this glorious noise releases the steam.
The story of my life is an elusive one. Some parts ai remember, other parts are locked in a prison far far away. I don’t mind it. I just figure some parts aren’t supposed to surface until just the right time.