It is a terrible thing to have stopped talking to myself in the mirror. A few periods before that I have stopped writing, and taking pictures - those that are actually worth a thousand words, that is. I have to admit it had been a deliberate effort when, for a long time, I’d taken employment as a scapegoat -slipping into denial most, if not all, of the time that I had played dead for months.

Here is self-proclaimed bravery: my getting back into the acquaintance zone, going out (and alot), working up the will to write some (maybe, all of it) down; confidence and security, in not having to bring my camera around to scream at people’s faces the truth in that it happened.