Can I whisper joyful words to you in times I feel light without them being evidence against me?
Can I beam? Play? Joke? Cry over minor inconveniences, and still fit your diagnosis?
How do I cope healthily, yet remain a good enough victim to be worthy of your grace?
I’m not close to there yet. But if I write enough of these words, maybe they’ll get lighter.
Grey birds, taking off one at a time, easing the wire back to baseline. Still tense, but not quite so taut.