POPPY SEEDS AND LOVE

"e;I'd love to write a clean book, with airy pages and perfectly arranged words. I'd like to leave behind the story of a woman who lived a chaotic life, in a chaotic mind and a frail body, and who finally managed to make peace with herself so clearly and divinely."e; That was the first thought I had about writing a book, more than ten years ago. All my life, I've felt that I was flawed, that my mind works differently; it seemed so difficult to sum up what I wanted to say in just a few words, because up there, in my head, everything was so complex: "e;How can I tell my mother that I feel limited in a world that doesn't belong to me?"e; "e;How can I tell my partner that I want more from the person I've so carefully crafted in my moments of solitude?"e; "e;How can I express complex ideas in a few simple, well-chosen words, without making them feel too heavy?"e; For a very long time I lived in my own little world, limited by my understanding, going from one therapy session to the next, reading all sorts of books, learning about my mind and body, just to prove to myself that I wasn't defective; that I'm a model student, always getting good grades, competing in academic competitions, achieving fantastic results, taking dance classes, and doing wonderfullitis (this word is invented by me, and I use it many times to describe when you're doing exceptionally well at something). Nevertheless, my life so far has been a constant struggle and has, on the whole, consisted of proving to myself-and then to the whole world-that I am not flawed. Writing has always been with me, though. It's been my only confidant since I was six years old. It saved me from my gladiator-like mind and opened many doors of hope for me.