Writing With Mental Illness
By Cathy Yardley | August 7, 2020 |
Photo by Magic_Nick
I can’t speak for everyone who has mental illness, and I’m in no way, shape, or form a medical professional. I can only speak about my experiences with it. I am diagnosed ADHD and bipolar 2, and it has taken me years to finally write this post. (I tried last August, but wound up pulling my punch and writing a more generalized post about anxiety.)
There’s a lot of romanticizing of mental illness by various writers and poets throughout history, either as a necessary element of creativity, or creativity as a balm for it. Do a Google image search on “madness” and “writers” and you’ll see dozens of arty quotes about “beautiful insanity” and the like. They see mental illness as this glorious, passionate, technicolor acid-trip of imagination… when oftentimes it’s just being shackled to a high-school bully who won’t shut up.
Allow me to illustrate.
When your brain is not necessarily your friend.
You write a thing.
After a brief burst of happiness, you start questioning said thing. Slowly, you convince yourself that the piece actually sucks. It’s not just “bad but revisable.” It’s trash.
It doesn’t stop there.
The piece sucks, your brain whispers, because your writing sucks.
The writing sucks because you suck. You are, objectively, a horrible human being.
At some point, you find yourself up at two in the morning, remembering (I am not even kidding here) some terrible, stupid, embarrassing thing you did in junior high school, which your brain has helpfully provided as “proof” that you are, without question, a horrible human being.
The next day, you go to write, but you find yourself paralyzed. Because your writing sucks, because you suck, and this is an empirical, proven, clinically tested and peer-reviewed fact which everyone knows.
(On some logical level, you suspect that you may be wrong. You probably aren’t horrible. But every time you brush against this thought, your brain starts to present more proof, so for sheer self-preservation, it’s easier to not examine it more carefully.)
What it looks like from the outside.
Let’s say you try to explain this problem to someone.
You don’t necessarily want to say it’s because of the mental illness – because the illness itself tells you it’s not its fault.
You’re not blocked because you have depression, it murmurs. You’re blocked because you’re a terrible writer, because you’re whiny and self-indulgent and a fraud.
So instead, you tentatively say that you’ve “got a bit of writer’s block,” and you’re “kind of bummed” about it, downplaying your emotions. Why? Because it seems overly dramatic to say “I am in agony over here” and the last thing you want to seem is over-dramatic.
(Because that would make you a terrible person, your brain whispers. People don’t like drama queens.)
And let’s say that the person you’re talking to 1) is neurotypical (i.e., does not have mental illness) and 2) does not realize that you are not neurotypical.
Good intentions.
They are then going to apply “solutions” that could possibly work… if you were neurotypical.
“Buck up” or “stay positive” or similar are often trotted out. “I don’t believe in writer’s block” is another goody in the bag. People share links to “increasing your productivity” posts and “increasing your word-count” vlogs and other “efficiency hacks.”
None of these things is inherently harmful. (Okay, I do hate the “I don’t believe in writer’s block” thing, because it strikes me as terribly uncompassionate. That’s like saying to someone who just got hit by a brick: “I’ve never gotten hit by a brick. I don’t think that’s a thing.”) They’re just not necessarily helpful.
But when you have mental illness, you take their commentary as further proof that you’re the problem.
If you had only been more positive, or more efficient, or basically less you, then you wouldn’t suffer the problems you’re experiencing. Some people “just need a good smack” to “get over themselves” and honey, that’s you.
It’s not bad enough you’re suffering. You did it to yourself.
You absorb that. Internalize it. Amplify it.
Rinse and repeat.
Gaslit from the inside.
It’s hard to fight something that’s constantly trying to hide its own existence. Mental illness feels like that.
Depression lies. Anxiety takes existing concerns and dials those suckers up to eleven. ADHD tries to convince you that you’re stupid.
They’re wrong. But you’ve got an enemy in your head, morning, noon, and night. How do you address something so pervasive?
Some things that (might) help.
Again – not a doctor, don’t even play one on TV. But I’ve been doing this enough for myself to have a few coping mechanisms up my sleeve.
In some cases – in my case – medication helps. Getting the right medication helps, too. (Turns out I was misdiagnosed with chronic depression as opposed to bipolar 2. That took some dialing in. I loved hypomania – wrote like a demon in that state – but the “productivity” is not worth the extended depressive crash.)
If you think you may have a mental illness, but you’re avoiding treatment because you’re afraid that it will negatively affect your creativity, I would suggest that it, also, might be a matter of a doctor helping you dial it in. Discussing it with one is a step in the right direction.
Some of those earlier neurotypical solutions can be helpful, if you’re aware of why and how you’re using them. The problem is, it isn’t as easy as “stay positive” or “buck up.” It’s more specific.
How do you get to a positive state, for example? Listing things you’re grateful for, even just one a day, can help. Being mindful, focusing on your breathing, meditating. Focusing on “where your feet are.” Doing things that you know make you happy. (Within reason. Four cookies? Good. Four dozen in five minutes? Perhaps less good.)
That’s why I often write articles about self-care. Self-care is crucial when it comes to managing mental illness. It’s hard, don’t get me wrong. But it’s worth it.
Finally, connecting with people who know you have a mental illness, and who understand what that entails and are sympathetic, can be a huge help. The problem then is reaching out and asking for help. That can be one of the most grueling exercises possible. Even when someone is reaching out to you, it can be hard to speak. Set a routine call if you can – it’ll keep you connected, whether you want to be or not.
It’s okay. Or it will be.
It’s not like I take pills in the morning and practice self-care and now I’m “normal.” I still wrestle with various issues, but I try to stay on top of it. (That’s especially important when the illness’s other party trick is saying “you’re fine now – stop taking your meds.”)
That said, I don’t think of myself as particularly “abnormal,” not in any bad way. It’s just an illness. I deal with it. So do lots of other writers who contend with mental illness. It’s okay. Or, if it isn’t okay, we’ll battle, or nap, or prop each other up until it is.
I know recognizing and addressing what you’re dealing with helps. Knowing you’re not alone in the struggle helps. Left untreated, unaddressed, it’s more dangerous than most people want to admit.
Finally, if you need it, I just wanted to say: I see you. I care about you. And I know it can get better, even in this time of catastrophic external upheaval. Hang in there.
A lot of these elements aren’t exclusive to mental illness. Do you ever “beat yourself up” for poor writing, or not writing? How harsh is your inner critic? Does it ever affect your feelings of overall self-worth? Just how much of your “self” is defined by your writing?
Cathy Yardley has published over 33 novels, novellas, and serialized fiction, both traditionally and independently. In 2011, she started RockYourWriting.com, with the mission of helping novelists make a living. She has helped hundreds of authors as a developmental editor, writing coach, and through her “plot sessions” – one-on-one calls that get authors from concept to plot points in one hour. She’s also written the Rock Your Writing series of reference books, taking authors through the writing cycle, from concept to completion. Sign up for her newsletter, and you can receive free downloads to help you plot and revise your novel.
That must’ve taken serious guts to write, Cathy. For that, you earned my respect.
I don’t know if I would ever talk openly about mental health issues, but it has influenced my writing. So, what you’ve described today is unique to you, but not so unique that it doesn’t resonate with me, and, I’m sure, other writers.
Thank You For Sharing.
Thank you so much, James. I appreciate your commenting. :)
Cathy, I have to echo what James said. I seem to be following him lately in the posts. Which is good because his comments always have value for me, as did your post this morning. Yes, you are brave. But further, by talking about this, you may be saving lives. I’ve lost loved ones to mental illness and the stigma that surrounds it. You are so right, there’s nothing abnormal about you. Your brain works the way it works. But that’s easy to say, and so much harder to be with out there in this judgmental world. We writers are pretty hard on ourselves anyway and the work is always hard. All of us hit walls. That is certainly a thing. But for anyone with a ‘disorder’ (I truly hate that word, along with so many other labels we give one another) it’s a different kind of hard. So thank you from the bottom of my heart for putting yourself out there so honestly and eloquently.
Appreciated, Susan.
Thank you, Susan. I appreciate the kind words!
One line in particular hit me especially hard, the one about two in the morning and junior high. A more regular occurrence than not. Once I grabbed a Kleenex and settled down, the hope you offer truly began to sink in. Thank you for that. Thank you for addressing, with utter transparency and vulnerability, something so important. Important for us who need to hear it – hope exists, we can do this. Important for neurotypicals – listen, show compassion. Thank you for this gift.
I am glad to know that I’m not the only one who agonized at 2 a.m. over things that I did in junior high school!
Meredith, you are definitely not the only one! I do that regularly. I still have actual recurring nightmares about the time I had agreed to take care of two horses owned by the wife of my dad’s boss one weekend and then COMPLETELY FORGOT which weekend it was. By the time I remembered she was back home and (understandably) furious.
That two a.m. “little reminder” is insidious, and far more common than I’d realized, isn’t it? I’m sorry that you know the experience, but I’m glad that you appreciated the post. Thank you for reading, and commenting.
I’m in therapy now partly because of all those 2 a.m. memories that I’ve relived over 60 years. My yet-to-be-given-a-name mental illness has stalled my writing over the years as a journalist, magazine editor, and author. And I mean “stalled” in both the research and writing phases. I can always get started thanks to the pressure of short deadlines, but I become paralyzed at several points throughout, staring at the screen or paper and trying to remember/process/understand what I’m doing. My thinking recedes into my brain, and suddenly nothing makes sense.
Thank you so much for this post. I’ve given up trying to get others to understand, except for those like my husband who need to understand. But I hope this post and the little I’ve written publicly about my own mental illness will help those similarly afflicted get the help they need.
Cathy, if you thought this post would make us uncomfortable: wrong. Bravery is nothing but inspiring.
This morning I am full of inspiration, and respect. Thank you.
Thank you, Benjamin. I appreciate it.
Like you, Cathy, I have bipolar 2 and everything you wrote in this post resonates with me. It’s nice to know that I’m not the only one who wrestles with these things! Your words about self-care are exactly what I need to hear this morning. Thank you for your honesty, courage, and wisdom.
It’s nice to see a fellow bipolar 2, and not feel alone! Thank you for reading, and commenting.
Thank you for writing this. I have a writing buddy who is struggling with bipolar 2. Pandemic isolation only makes it worse. I’m sending this on to her.
Isolation has made it harder for a lot of people… especially when it makes it so much easier to avoid conversations and get “into your own head” and let things fester unchecked. Sending hugs her way.
Cathy! I also have a diagnosis of bipolar 2 … and was also misdiagnosed with depression for too long.
I joined an organization about four years ago … we’re a network in the US and (as of right now) five countries, and we’re all professional people with mental health conditions. We’re all willing to share our story–warts and all–so we offer hope AND reduce discrimination. If you’re interested, check it out: https://www.thestabilitynetwork.org/
Regardless, thank you for sharing. Isn’t it a bit of a relief to share your story and realize that people still like and love you? I personally think that having a mental health condition is like having a superpower. It’s a terrible burden sometimes, but it’s also a gift. Thanks for sharing your gifts! You have encouraged many others today … and don’t we need encouragement right now!
Wow, Sarah! There are a lot more of us than I realized, and that is heartening, to see people who intimately understand the experience. I will check out that network. Thank you so much for sharing!
As for if it’s a relief… actually, it was scary as hell. My brain was NOT happy I decided to write this, and I was prepared for “why did you write this?” and “how self-indulgent do you have to be” and GOD, sometimes I hate anxiety. :) But it’s better now. Which goes to show: check in with other trusted people, and let them see you and care about you. Scary, but worth it.
Oh Cathy, I’m so sorry for your suffering and also amazed at your honesty and courage in living and thriving with it. Like you say, these feelings aren’t exclusive–I feel the same to varying degrees even without mental anguish, which I think is far more difficult to live with than physical pain. But it is the writing that saves me. Every time. God bless you.
Thank you so much for commenting, Vijaya. I appreciate it.
Great post, Cathy! Thanks for your honesty, openness, and significant stigma-busting. Writers ARE statistically more likely to struggle with mental health issues themselves or within their families (check out Dr. Simon Kyaga’s massive Swedish study) and your superlative communication skills bring light and air to this subject, so needed now. Thanks also for plugging self-care.
Thank you for commenting, Ann! I will check out that study… I work with a lot of writers, and I know a lot of people with mental illness, and yeah, there’s a Venn diagram overlap there. It’ll be interesting to see if there are any suspected reasons why. Thanks, again!
Thank you so, so, so much for writing this, Cathy. I can hardly read it for the roaring in my brain. I don’t even have words to respond to this yet except to say it is so, so appreciated.
Hugs, Julie. Thanks for commenting. :)
Thank you for your bravery in sharing. This is truly a beautiful gift!
Can I just say- instead of disease, why isn’t it said that our brains just work differently?
And yes, it’s a struggle, it’s hard, but it feels like sometimes others accidentally make it harder.
My son was diagnosed with ADHD as well and I got tired of watching how people treated him like he had a disease. He used to get so depressed in high school (and then they treated him for that- which didn’t help) when teachers made him feel like he had an illness and wasn’t equal to others. Even some doctors made him feel this way.
So what if he needed to use a keyboard instead of a pen. So what if he needed to doodle or listen to headphones while listening to the lecture. When the teacher called on him he always knew the answer. So what if he had to take medication to open a door in his brain – there’s no shame in that. I’m making my brainwaves work for me and proud of it!
Why can’t mental illness be looked at more like the Asperger’s spectrum? Where every individual brainwave comes with a different type of talent and gift. Every person is brilliant in their own way.
I don’t know, I just know that as a society we could make it easier for people with different brainwaves. Lessen the stigma. Then maybe the shame spiral wouldn’t be so torturous and the internal illness might have a shorter leg to stand on.
If it helps anyone, there’s a great book on ADHD by a guy in the top of his field called Focused Forward: navigating the storms of adult ADHD by James M. Ochoa. He has a podcast too.
That and a binaural app called Brainwave helped my son tremendously. Today he is his best Self.
Again, thank you for your vulnerability and bringing this to light. It’s most likely more common than any of us ever realized and there is hope and even joy. Thank you for making all of us feel less alone.
I got diagnosed with ADHD when my son did in the second grade. His teachers mentioned various behaviors and suggested that he might want to get tested, and I cheerfully replied, “Nonsense! He doesn’t have ADHD! I do all of those things, and… oh.”
Honestly, he does not get stigmatized, but we’ve encountered a lot more kids who have it, and schools seem better equipped to deal with it, even without an IEP. That said, it’s still not a picnic. I keep telling him: because we have this doesn’t mean it’s a “get out of jail free” card, it’s not an excuse. It means we’re going to have to work differently to accomplish what we want, whether that means setting timers for false procrastination “rushes,” or listening to music, or whatever. (Incidentally, it’s why I swear by the Write or Die app. I need the adrenaline to get over the internal censor. It beats the hell out of waiting until the last minute… which I still sometimes do.)
Incidentally, from what I’ve seen, Asperger’s still has plenty of a stigma, alas. But I agree: mental illness shouldn’t be stigmatized. I am so sorry your son has had a rough run with it, including the depression. Mental health treatment is an iterative process, and it can suck for a while before things get better. Sending good thoughts your way, and his.
Thank you for writing this post. I’m dealing with a few mental health issues too, and working with a professional for the past year has taught me how much those challenges have held me back from where I want to be as a writer.
I have a different diagnosis, but I’m more than a little familiar with the late-night, let’s-examine-past-mistakes dynamic. It drains our mental and physical reserves while denying us the REM sleep that we need. Just an ugly cycle.
I really am appreciative that you shared this. And I’m glad to see other writers inspired by it.
Please, folks, take care and reach out if you need help. It’s so worth it.
Thank you so much for commenting, Ruth. I’m glad you’re working with someone who is helping you get where you want to go, and that you’re feeling better. And I agree: it’s worth reaching out.
As you might know I worked as a family doctor for years and am overgifted with an abundance of empathy. Despite seeing patients struggle with mental health issues, I still didn’t really get it until I went through my first bout of major depression. I’m a resourced person, but there was no arguing with that sucker. No way to rationalize myself out of it, no parlor trick to get my mind to cooperate. And interestingly, very little understanding by my colleagues in how badly it could lay me low. (There’s a subconscious fear of contagion experienced by the neurotypical, IMHO. Or should I call them the fortunate-for-the-moment?)
But I do see the stigma subsiding along with better education. And posts like this one help. We’ve gotten to know and admire you without understanding the depth of your struggles. Now the admiration can go one level deeper. xox
That is the tough part, isn’t it… when someone has no experience with it, and they just somehow think you can shake it off? And it’s invisible, so it’s not like you can get them to understand, no, this isn’t a matter of “cheering up” or “calming down” or any other helpful platitude. It’s an order of magnitude worse. I am a little shocked that your fellow doctors didn’t get it — but just a little. And I like “fortunate-for-the-moment” because yeah, it’s a “there-but-for-the-grace-of-God” thing for a lot of people. I hope the stigma is subsiding. Thanks for commenting!
Dear Cathy,
Writing can often feel like physical exposure. Writing this post today is that and a gift to us. Though my academic background in medicine is only the level of a two year nursing degree, I believe that studies of the brain are still in early stages and that there is no one perfect “brain” that we should all yearn for. The brilliance of creation is often related to those who might be called “quirky” because medicine, research has failed to discover all that it needs to. Your words are brave. Your writing will be illuminated from the space you occupy. Wishing you the best and thanking you for reminding writers that the gift that should always sit inside our work–is empathy for some of our characters. Maybe not all of them, depending on what we create, but an empathetic cast to humanity as a whole. Thank You.
I value a lot of things about how my brain works: its creativity, and pattern recognition, and quirky way of looking at things. And I agree, there is no “perfect” brain. That said, my brain has low-key tried to kill me before — yeah, it’s that persuasive — so I’d rather not go through THAT again. That’s not a feature, it’s a bug.
So to anyone reading, I want to emphasize: in too many cases, this thing really can kill you if you’re not careful. The worst thing? It never seems like it’s dangerous until it is.
Thanks so much for commenting, Beth, and being so kind and encouraging. I appreciate it.
Cathy, I needed every word of this. Thank you. I’ve been struggling out of a long slog of inability to write for some time now, and it sucks. Recently things have been a little easier (though I’m not even sure why), and I seized the window to work through my WIP with Rock Your Plot, which is helping me get moving again, so thank you for that too!
I’m so glad you found it helpful, Marianna. Congrats on getting some writing done, and I’m also glad that RYP is helping, too. Email anytime if you need a boost. :)
Dear Cathy,
Thank you so much for this. Your honesty and bravery brought me to tears. I’ve spent so much of my life wrestling with those inner cruel voices and when I understood that I wasn’t neurotypical, spent too many years actively pretending I was.
I suspect I have coped with one form of burnout or another my whole adult life.
It’s only now, in my late 50s, that I’m learning to pay attention to and prioritize my mental health.
Here’s to learning to celebrate our wonky and neuro-atypical brains.
So many hugs, my friend. It’s actually amazing how much people are able to “handle” and hide, all while being smacked around by anxiety and burnout and internal criticism run amok. I am so glad that you’re prioritizing your mental health. Thank you so much for sharing!
Cathy, Thank you for your brave and honest post. I’m glad the diagnosis of “bipolar” is no longer unusual. I have a close family member and several friends who are bipolar.
I’ve learned from having lived a long life that those conversations with self in the middle of the night are never good. They always seem to revolve around one’s failures (or imagined failures). Once I learned that things look different (i.e., more realistic) after the sun comes up, I could ignore those ugly thoughts.
There is a growing body of research showing aerobic exercise has a positive effect on depression and bipolar symptoms.
Late night self-reflection is generally a recipe for disaster, isn’t it? I’ve learned that if I can’t sleep, doing an end-run by imagining my favorite “keeper” stories (by other authors, usually) helps drown it out somewhat. Interesting on the aerobic exercise — I think my therapist has mentioned it. I try to bike at least 3x a week, if only to keep endorphins up. And I think (?) aerobic exercise also helps with writing/creativity. (At least, that sounds plausible!)
Thanks so much for commenting, Kay!
Cathy, that’s true about aerobic exercise and creativity. I can attest to it. I’m a runner, and after I complete a run (especially outside, but even on the treadmill), I come up with new ideas as well as increased energy. I understand exercise increases hippocampal capacity — they call it Miracle-Gro for the brain! 😊
Cathy:
Your post brought me to tears and to laughter. Tears because so much of what you and commenters wrote applies to me. Laughter because — so much it it applies to me! (Junior high? Heck, I can go all the way back to kindergarten!) There’s something healing about realizing you’re not alone on this ride. It opens your heart to being less judgmental toward others and more at peace with the world. Thanks for sharing.
I totally agree. Thanks for commenting!
Cathy, strong and brave words—thank you for your candor and thoughtfulness. I’ve wrestled with the suffocation of depression since adolescence.
But I feel lucky, in that mine is the mild-to-modest species, and that I can usually wait out the blanketing to lift. But when you are under it, damn.
Here’s to meditation, exercise, and the occasional bourbon. And too literature. Thank you for inviting us in.
That’s depressing–should be “to” literature. Though “And too, literature” works as well. The world for a well-placed comma!
It’s good that you’re aware of it, and that you’ve got coping mechanisms to fall back on (including the bourbon — moderation in everything, including virtue. ) Thank you for commenting!
Oh, those two a.m. voices. Those subtle persuasive insinuations which imply one’s general worthlessness if one is not constantly doing well in absolutely every aspect of one’s life. To hell with them, and I say that as someone who believes in the reality of hell.
Can I be the 12 am (est) voice that says Thank You for the gift of this post?
My inner critic can be shut-down-the-writing brutal. And I need the writing to feel balanced, so it’s a nasty cycle when things aren’t going smoothly. What you said about being gaslit from the inside is powerful stuff, and rings true. I try never to believe anything I think about myself when I’m in The Downs; you are right that depression lies. It also steals—confidence, opportunities, time itself.
I appreciate, so much, your vulnerability and sharing, Cathy. You’ve made me think, and I needed this exact refocusing today. Thanks again.
What you wrote is so accurate. I’ve never heard mental illness related to being chained to a bully but it feels really familiar. Meds made that chain longer for me. And by the way, I see you too.
Thank you for this, Laura. I appreciate the solidarity like you wouldn’t believe. :)
Cathy, everything you just said is true. My younger daughter has Social Anxiety Disorder and some depression, and telling her to “buck up” doesn’t cut it.
BTW, I won a consult with you from Seekerville about five years ago. We talked on the phone, you made some suggestions, I incorporated them, and that book was published this past July. Thank you!
Thank you so much for commenting. And congrats on publishing! That’s fantastic news! :)
Cathy, thank you for writing this. I’m a writer with type one bipolar, and possibly ADHD (although never given a formal diagnosis on that score).
I could relate to so much of this. And also, not.
For all the years I wasn’t diagnosed, I wanted to write, but told myself I wasn’t good enough.
When I was at rock bottom, broke and coming out of a manic episode, I realized that if I wanted this, I’d better do it, even if I sucked.
I came to believe the ‘no writer’s block’ thing, I still do. Because whenever I felt depressed, and felt that my writing sucked, I could still throw words at the page. Every word I typed was a brick in the wall of my enemy’s defeat. It didn’t matter if the words were good, they were still there.
But. I started writing nine years ago. I’ve written two novels, and haven’t published yet. I’ve just been revising over and over.
And what you wrote here, showed me why. I’d been believing the same lies, just in a different way.
Thank you for the dose of reality. I really appreciate it.
Thanks so much for sharing this, David. I hope your writing journey goes a bit smoother. Sending good thoughts your way.
I believe that, too… when I’m on an upswing. The trick is to have friends who can help remind you of that on the downswing! :) Thanks so much for commenting!
Thank you for this, Cathy. As a trauma sufferer, I am no stranger to anxiety and depression, though my nightly “churning brain syndrome” always happens at 3 AM, something tied to the trauma itself. Occasional medication and years of therapy have helped tremendously, and experience has taught me to recognize the signs of an impending dark period. Times like these have been particularly interesting because there seems to be a pervasive feeling of anxiety/guilt/fear that can seem more inclusive than before, that “you’re not alone” sentiment expressed at a time when we are more physically isolated than we’ve ever been. I sometimes think the condition I’m describing is the reason I write. Certainly, the topic of mental illness and being “other” finds it’s way into all my work. Writing at 3 AM has turned into a habit, and some interesting stuff comes out at that time as well as some pure junk. But better out than in, I think.
Thank you so much for sharing this Cathy, and to all the others who commented and shared in their turn.
What an amazing humbling mind and heart opening experience reading all this.
Head. Desk.
I need a cookie and a nap.
Such awesome comments from some really groovy people. Lots of truth, love and support in this thread.
I know I’m letting my own mental illness hold me back. Working on righting that wrong and damned if it isn’t any easier then the last time. You’d think when you’ve wrestled with something so long it would eventually loosen its grip and give over control with a little less of a fight.
“I came here seeking justice…. DENIED!”
My brain is often times a Creativity Crematorium – where awesome ideas burn into ash.
But then I say “I came here to chew bubble gum and kick ass, and I’m all out of gum…”
As always Chica – you inspire greatness. The “Army of Brothers” is ever grateful and always at your service.
Much love to the Fam from the Fam.