The first collected edition of Invisible Republic, the latest comic by the husband and wife team of Gabriel Hardman and Corinna Bechko, has recently been released. It collects the first story arc featured in issues 1-5 of the monthly comic. Published by Image Comics, it is another fine example of how the comic book medium is currently at the forefront of intelligent, innovative storytelling.
I read a wide variety of books. In the steady stream of mysteries and thrillers I admit to reading romances and YA. My library includes books on computer programming, business, self improvement (none of which have taken hold), and science. If something seems interesting I’ll take a run at it. A few years back I decided life is too short to muddle through a book I am forcing myself to read. It may not be a bad book. It doesn’t click with me. I have tried Hemingway, but can’t get into his rhythm, so I gave up feeling inadequate that I didn’t like him and moved on.
After reading David’s entry I felt warm and tingly for a few reasons. I won’t spoil why, or where the tingles emanated, you’ll need to read to find out. Worth the few minutes to put a smile on your face.
As most of you know, May is Mental Health Awareness Month, but some of you may not know that Schizophrenia Awareness Week kicked off on May seventeenth. I’m going to be completely honest and tell you that while I consider myself to be a mental health advocate, I have never acknowledged this particular week, until now. It’s not that I didn’t believe that schizophrenia wasn’t important. It’s not that I didn’t believe that schizophrenia didn’t need more awareness. It’s not that I didn’t understand the gravity of what people endure. I just didn’t take the time to actually acknowledge it separately from the blanket of mental health awareness, and why didn’t I? It’s because I was ignorant. Yes, as much as that pains me to say it, I was fucking ignorant.
My reality is destroyed.
It’s never been this bad. I didn’t even know it could get this bad. I commented on a post on Facebook earlier today, just to look back at it later and wonder if it was even me who had commented. If it was me, how the hell did I do it? How could I? I feel so crazy, I have no idea how I even still know how to use my phone to post on Facebook, how I carried on that conversation I did for twenty-three seconds, how I even know my name. Surely this isn’t typical. Are there others around pretending to be normal every second of every day as they wither away inside? Or do they just embrace the insanity for what it is?