Growing up, my brother and I used to play with these complicated jigsaw puzzles. The tougher they were, the more fun it was. We’d split the picture in half and compete to see who completed their side first. It was fun. Nerdy, and fun.
Now trying hard to collect the pieces of my broken life and figure things out, I’m still having fun. It’s definitely not nerdy. And it’s unbelievably scary.
Why? Maybe because it’s not a competition anymore. Maybe because it’s not thousand but a million pieces. Maybe also because instead of recreating the image I grew up with, I’m using these same pieces to create a new image. Maybe because I don’t even have all the pieces to visualize the image I can create. And maybe because I’m scared of the image I might end up creating.
Yet.. I can’t help but wonder, where did the childish naive innocent belief go? The faith that good bad or ugly, I will have an image in the end. My image.
A bipolar diary 