Life is telling me a story...

It all started years ago when I was in my early 20's. It was like a truck hit me across the pavement and I got brain damage. Everything I knew in life was a settled hault. Trauma that I experienced had no end. A part of me had lost all hope and another part of me gained hope.

I was diagnosed with schizo-affective bipolar 1 when I was 22 years old. I started to experience different sides of life that told me who I would become to be. I lived in a bubble that never popped; I relate that to unknown happiness I never knew I had, excitement to thrive on a world that I called my own, yet also, deep scary reminders that I am nothing close to perfect and the demon of my life was content with my unworthiness trapped in a bubble. Good or bad, I started a journey. It began recondulsing my childhood experiences, going through regret of what I did wrong as a teenager, and at the same time, I experienced everything this bubble of a world that told me who I was, transformed me into this subject of matter of belief, disbelief, hope, and death.

I think to myself, how can any of this make sense? Well it does. I think every story has a cover to intrigue you to read and my cover is black to my demon saying, The beginning of the end, and my hope cover says, I can be anything I want to be. I go back and fourth with these 'headlines' of my story/journey. I am at the point of trying to release negative emotions and stand up for myself on my positive side.

I am a student studying digital arts/design. I have this ambition that is incredible to look forward to life to live in. I still have a lack of mobility that says, "This isn't good enough and you cannot think that you can change." I automatically think of my trauma and how innocent my life reflects off my heart. (Without saying screw the world, I say, thank you world... my heart wants to welcome you home).

Visions are aligning to ones' belief.

What you seek can be seen with love.

And this... is the journey I call home.