On a train again. Well, not really yet. I’m in bed, in that room that has been mine just for a couple of months. Specifically I lay on a pile of clothes, my clothes. Those clothes that tomorrow I will try to sell before getting on a train again. I will give away everything I own, this time really everything I own except the bare necessities. Hopefully I will get some money for it, otherwise I will survive with the little I have left.
Nothing can stop me now.
Reckless, yes, but who cares! This life that I’ve created for myself in the last months is not made for me. Work, hold breath, sleep, repeat. Look for an apartment, hold breath, repeat. No, it makes me crazy! Crazy…well maybe you think that this choice is crazier than the life you live, but I’m not neurotypical, I AM autistic and my concept of madness is surely different from yours.
I’ve held my breath for a month now. Now I have to exhale and I can do that only if I sit on a train and write…I will look for a white beach somewhere in the north, sit on the sand and write because it is the only thing that makes me feel alive, after the hug of my Felice. He will understand me, maybe he is the only one that will not call me crazy.