When I hit a bad episode, funktastic or manic, I drive.
I love to drive.
I love to feel the release, to feel the freedom. I almost feel like me again.
That’s a big almost of course.
But what completes it? Is the music. Now, I’ve talked about how matched with the right song; you can almost feel like you’re flying.
But when I’m in a bad episode? I blast the radio. I blast it loud enough to make sure I feel it in my soul.
Okay. Maybe not my soul…more like my chesticles.
When the music is that loud? It’s able to blast those evil thoughts, those evil feelings of doubt and fear from my brain.
Which of course, in turn makes the boys whines for fries at 10am & the girls cries for attention more liveable…ish.