“I heard someone say once that many of us only seem able to find heaven by backing away from hell. And while the place that I’ve arrived at in my life may not precisely be everyone’s idea of heavenly, I could swear sometimes—if I am quiet enough—I can hear the angels sing.” —Carrie Fisher, Wishful Drinking (2008) -- RecklessPrudence
Hell, like Heaven, is relative. One being's paradise is another's torture. And for Til, life was that torture. Another day to live was another day fighting her own demons. Resisting the voice in her head that told her to do harm. Struggling to breathe. Struggling to move. Struggling, in general, to live another day as close to the accepted normal as possible.
Struggling, especially, not to kill the acceptably normal people for the things she heard them say. Every. Single. Day.
Of all of them, the politicians on the news were the worst. Their sound bites became the memes in the mouths of the everyday people. People like Til were lazy, unhealthy, diseased. People like Til should be locked up at their own expense for the good of everyone else. People like Til only deserved a life as unpaid test subjects for the good of science, and the rest of the real people.
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