I understand that I am happy, joyful even, and that this feeling of a warm glow inside could not be improved upon without mania, something which no longer appeals at this age, preferring instead to surf along the edge of it, to bask in the glisten of madness rather than fall into the depths.

The weakness - beyond poverty and precariousness - is the lack of validation, the positive reflection of myself in others, the reassurance that I'm doing this right. And I wonder about the dizzy heights above me, too, think about those times it all came together, when I saw what those at the top see, and how entirely lost I was. How everything is carried in my body, how in the end there's always this world, my world, contained in the space between my ears and down to my feet, and how it'll all end when I do, like it does for everyone.