Go to the ocean. The ocean may have been calling or I might have simply been talking to myself. But somewhere in my head a voice said, "go to the ocean." I went because I thought the warm sun might feel good on exposed skin. Skin that hadn't felt a breath in weeks.

After my last post, where I commented on my fear around being bipolar in public, a discussion came about regarding attitudes, and how I’m the same as everyone else. Well, I beg to disagree. I’m crazy. And the implications of that are undeniable.