I have a habit of reading aloud my writing. It comforts like a prayer, like a chant.... I have a habit of reading over and over the love letters I have written to myself. I feel much less lonely and much more hopeful....I have a habit of writing and rewriting, writing and rewriting…writing and rewriting…. It seems mad, this obsessive process of painful scratching to no end, but I feel that it is the only thing that keeps me from depressing into a place where I lose my faith and sanity completely. What is depression but a fallen high? I am forgiving. What is madness but our deepening awareness? I am grateful.