Believe me I had no idea my mind had become fractured.  Not then.  I had inklings at various points in my life when serious anger would erupt.

Or when I completely collapsed during my Parisian Junior Year abroad.

And most surprisingly for me, for many months after completing the highest level within  an organization I had joined at 24.

I would lie in bed, tears would roll down my checks and no thoughts would accompany them.

I knew I was losing my mind.  It took a few years for the complete break to occur.

And many more years to piece it back together.

It’s a difficult story.  But then, honestly every person’s story is a difficult one.

Scratch beneath almost everyone’s social face and there lies a story, one after the other, of all pervasive suffering.

Sadly,  in millions of  lives the suffering is so all encompassing that the opportunity to be able to step back, outside of their own stories cannot ever occur.  Abject poverty, tribal wars, inhuman social morales preclude self-reflection.

I actually consider myself fortunate.

To have lived, as they say, to tell the tale.

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