Through the chaos, myself

I live at the crossroads of chronic illness, disability, neurodiversity and transness. Inside my head, snippets of conversations overlap. Five voices so far.

Focus feels like a hand gripping a remote control, always switching channels.

When I write, I can listen to just one. When I write, there is peace. The buzzing dies down and I hear myself clearly.

Writing is my therapy, the only form of meditation my restless mind can actually practice. Here, I let the voices speak. Maybe you’ll hear yourself in them too.