I have this nagging feeling that much of my perceived creative decline comes from my desire to fix what ails me. I have been in chronic pain for most of my life and haven’t found a way out. My chronic bodily awareness makes me feel like a moth failing to writhe out from mounting pins

Today is better than most, but I wonder where I missed understanding when I was young and feeling all this that it wasn’t right, and why I didn’t (and still don’t) know how to say that I hurt.