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confessions of a madwoman
for about three months, i forgot how to write. i couldn't draw or do much of anything creative but nothing terrified me on such an existential level as forgetting how to write. see, i had a condition called serotonin syndrome, an artificial build-up of the happiness chemical in my brain and it almost killed me. no joke, look it up. that particular side effect (of a cocktail of medications including a migraine preventative that was the last to be replaced) is a mortality risk and a half and i was grappling with the consequences of it at the same time as an identity crisis caused in part by the only viable solution to serotonin syndrome: serotonergic cessation. no serotonin aids for weeks. around that time i started having seizures whenever i tried to engage my imagination. it was hell. it still hurts a little to wrench the words from my subconscious to the surface and i'm twitching a bit because of it, but i'm afraid if i don't start writing again i'll never get back into the habit and this year has cost me so much already. i lost my mind, my career, my identity, my libido, possibly my marriage, definitely my sense of safety, and at least one extremely good friend whose loss i'm not allowed to grieve except at my therapist and buried in the lines of prose i scream into the void. i am profoundly alone and simultaneously surrounded by people who love me and it is the most surreal experience of my life. i'm in the middle of a full-blown PTSD resurgence, blending childhood and adult traumas together into a nightmarish hellscape that overlaps reality like a superimposed photograph all. the. time. and i'm having some kind of midlife crisis regarding my spirituality but lack of religious belief that led me to start a cult (which i will definitely be linking to when i finish writing this because shameless self promotion is the modus operandi). but in my defense the model is terribly unprofitable because the point is to crowd-source the epiphany to the masses, which means free access to all. the most important bits of the philosophy are completely free, from the playlist augury (which you can use to listen to the will of the universe once you tune it to your channel, so to speak) to the three mantras (which guide everyday decisions in the moment) to the twelve principles (which guide overall values and morals). they play off each other to create an implication of further values, but lack the strict methodical proscription of religious dogma. alchemy doesn't care how you get there, or even what you call it. all that matters is that you serve the equilibrium, the balance of the universe, the source of the energy, or your God by doing good things that adhere to the principles and live according to the mantras. if you don't want to use the playlist augury, you don't have to. be hyperpresent in your own body and do something that feels good while you think about who you are and what your place is in the world. mine is behind a screen, ranting like a crazy person (because I am a crazy person) about my nervous breakdown, my new cult, my impending bankruptcy, my new name, my rock bottom, my activist art that no one buys (but they should, since i don't even get a piece of some of them, so there will be another link here), my marriage, my mother... pretty much anything. so when i forgot how to write, i've never been so scared of anything in my life.
By Maia Gadwall the metAlchemist3 months ago in Confessions
Your Future Self is Watching
When sitting in a quiet setting like at home when the lights go off, or in an office where I have to wait for a long while, or simply on a long trip when the noise settles in the bus. I often reflect on how I got this far. The decisions which led me here, the fortunate and unfortunate events which shaped this moment, and how all this could have been different if certain things didn’t happen. I also imagine how different my life would have been if I had made some other choices. For better or worse, I’ll never really know how things could have turned out. All I can do is assume they turned out for the best.
By real Jema3 months ago in Confessions
POV: I WISH I NEVER SAID YES
Chapter 1: Tuesday, 6:00 AM I woke up to my alarm screaming like it hated me. 6:00 AM. Another Tuesday. I groaned, rolled over, and slapped it silent. My mouth was dry. My brain foggy. I sat up and muttered, “Why do I do this to myself?”
By Roman B Jr.3 months ago in Confessions
The Two Breads That Saved a Soul
The Bread of Faith: The Story of Abu Nasr Al-Iyad BY ubaid Once upon a time, there lived a man named Abu Nasr Al-Iyad. He was a poor man who struggled each day to provide for his wife and two young children. Poverty had wrapped its chains around him so tightly that hope seemed to fade with every passing day.
By Ubaid 3 months ago in Confessions
When the Mirror Learns to Speak.
When you’re little and start showing signs of adolescence, it’s both a shy and awakening stage. You don’t quite know who you’re becoming yet — you’re caught between childhood and womanhood, between wanting to be invisible and wanting to be understood. If you have a caring family, that transition feels easier, almost gentle. They guide you through it without judgement. But when your family is the type that points and questions, conforming becomes a way of survival.
By Gladys Kay Sidorenko3 months ago in Confessions
The Secret My Husband Took to His Grave
The Secret My Husband Took to His Grave I never thought silence could be so loud. It has been eight months since Daniel passed away, yet the quietness of our home still hums with his absence. Every morning, I wake up expecting to hear the kettle whistle and his voice calling out, “Coffee or tea, love?” But all that greets me is the hollow echo of memory.
By Muhammad Ilyas3 months ago in Confessions
The Weight of Labels
I did not get angry because I was attacked. I got angry because I felt invisible. That is what labeling does. It reduces a human being—a soul with thoughts, experiences, and convictions—into a set of categories that can be dismissed before they even speak.
By Peter Thwing - Host of the FST Podcast3 months ago in Confessions
The Last Letter
Rain tapped gently against the cracked window as Evelyn sat at her old wooden desk, staring at the faded envelope in her trembling hands. Her name was written in a familiar handwriting—looped, elegant, and painfully recognizable. She hadn’t seen it in fifteen years, not since the day Daniel left.
By Waqas Ahmad3 months ago in Confessions
He Texted Me.. After the Funeral
He Texted Me… After the Funeral The funeral was over. The flowers had started to fade, and the air around me still smelled of incense and dust. Everyone had gone home, whispering their condolences as if words could fill the silence my father left behind.
By Rai Sohaib 3 months ago in Confessions
The Night He Finally Chose Me. Content Warning.
We always knew there was something about us that couldn’t be ignored. Even when we both had other people, it didn’t matter — we couldn’t stay away. We were obsessed with each other, completely hooked. I’d sneak over every night, even when I moved two hours away just to make people think we weren’t seeing each other anymore. But he’d still drive back and forth every night and morning, even while working all day, just to be with me.
By Adrianna Lira3 months ago in Confessions
Who Are You
I am three things. And maybe more. I teach. There’s nothing like the moment a student’s eyes light up — confusion giving way to understanding, that spark that tells you something has clicked. Mathematics isn’t impossible. It’s a key, and I just help open the door. I’ve seen students sit quietly, heads bent, unsure if they’ll ever get it. And then, suddenly, they do. Their smile says more than words ever could. That’s why I teach — because guiding someone to see what they couldn’t before is like handing them a small piece of light. Teaching gives me purpose. It humbles me. It reminds me that patience builds confidence and that learning, no matter how small, is always a victory worth celebrating.
By Gladys Kay Sidorenko3 months ago in Confessions
