Dangerous Compassions

collective friends

Here’s the banner.  What do you think?  My friend left space for others to add to it.  How about a bunch of mushrooms or merfolk?  Or some skeleton keys and valentine hearts.  Tons of suns.

The radical mental health collective is the only place I can go and feel comfortable about being who I am.  I cried tonight for all the five minutes as I checked in.  It felt so good for them to let me do that.  Accepting my cry as a normal thing.  People cry.  They didn’t have to stop me, fix me, change me.  They let me do my thing.  They could handle it.

I can’t tell you how good that is for me.  It’s not every day I get that.  Places I go, they would want me to stop crying as quickly as possible.  Or crying is like farting.  An embarrassment we pretend didn’t happen–people start squirming.  It feels wonderful to be witnessed in a caring but chill way.

The mockingbird outside is singing–I like to pretend it’s my friend.  I have some things to do!  I hope I can find the energy.

By Laura-Marie

Good at listening to the noise until it makes sense.

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