But pain and pleasure intertwine in playing the drums, much as they do elsewhere in life.
Swimming has saved me over and over again. But this time it cannot.
How sad that I couldn’t regard myself with more kindness before, but how necessary it felt now that I was in constant pain.
The diary was how I organized a life suddenly thrown into chaos. This is what the human mind does; it looks for a narrative, for meaning.
What kind of story would you like to write?
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