Member-only story
Neurotypical Wonderland
I like to imagine it sometimes. A life without mental illness.
I like to imagine it sometimes. A life without mental illness.
The world would be so bright. Mine for the taking. All of my insecurities and insane fears sloughed off to reveal the ease and beauty of a hale, healthy mind.
Meeting someone and not psychoanalyzing every single gesture and tone change. Relaxing into social situations and allowing my guard to fall, as if it had never been there.
Being able to have an argument with someone without having a mental breakdown. Talking my problems out instead of holding it all inside until it’s about to explode.
I would be more confident in my writing. The words would flow like honey from my fingers, a slow but steady drip of beauty.
I could keep a job for longer than a few months, keep up with a hobby for longer than a few months, and perhaps even keep a boyfriend long enough to make a life with him.
It’s not just a fantasy — on good days, I’ve been there. On good days, I can talk to anyone, make a smart remark to a passerby, strike up a conversation with a stranger. My fears fall away like they never even existed, like they were never a part of me in the first place.
