A crazy little thing called love.

These neuroses of mine, readers, are troublesome these days. Alright, most days.. for the past decade. Sigh.

After a particularly rough day in which I had nothing scary to face other than, you know, the regular waking, eating, breathing thing, I find myself ready to go to sleep. That is odd, since I don't sleep well at night. I get caught in a loop and rehash all of the day's problems, which I believe are the results of my very existence. Quickly, the loop of worry and guilt gets more fodder added to it, as I remember yesterday, and last week, and last month, et cetera, et cetera. Consequently, I don't sleep, as I am too busy worrying and remembering and narrating a biased tragic tale to ..what? Oh, yes. Relax. I don't really relax. I nap during the day out of sheer exhaustion, and I knit to keep my hands busy and to rewire my automatic thoughts from everything is your fault, you terrible human to knit two, purl two.

But, tonight, as I said, I am ready to sleep. I was invited to submit to a zine which chronicles experiences with mental health issues and fights ableism, and, ultimately, is an exercise in self-love. It was encouraging to see how many people joined the group, either to submit or to purchase an issue when it comes out. I didn't feel quite so alone in acknowledging these madnesses of mine, and that is one of the most important parts in fighting these diseases.

Also, and probably even more cathartic, was an exchange between a few me and a few Twitterers. It was initiated by a formspring post by Thursday, in which she discussed the internal running commentary that accompanies some of her interactions. A half dozen of us connected with that experience, and sharing those fears and acknowledging that we have unique requirements for health was reassuring. Again, it was wonderful to see a small community arise out of an experience that can be so bloody isolating. It was definitely, as Caren said, tweet therapy.

And here's some puppyfuzz, readers, to remind you that puppy love is not pejorative. It's downright glorious.