Keep The Doctor Away

In 2022, my 104-year-old great-grandmother passed; the woman who helped raise me, whose laughter was a remedy like the sweet chocolate cakes she used to make. Thoughts of her death caused me to spiral into a place so dark, I forgot what it was like to have the lights on.

During that time, I explored themes of religion, sexuality, artificial intelligence, mortality, and climate change more than I ever had in my life.

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In 2022, my 104-year-old great-grandmother passed; the woman who helped raise me, whose laughter was a remedy like the sweet chocolate cakes she used to make. Thoughts of her death caused me to spiral into a place so dark, I forgot what it was like to have the lights on.

During that time, I explored themes of religion, sexuality, artificial intelligence, mortality, and climate change more than I ever had in my life. My spirals were the product of an inconsistent mind framing my own imagination as prophecy. By the time I learned this, it was months later when I was driving down a narrow, Mississippi street, staring at the lively weeds in the middle of May. In that moment, I learned that endings don't always mean finality. I've grown to understand that the terror I faced doesn't have to be my story.

I can write a different one.

I write faith without belief and without contempt. I write catastrophe as good manners. And with every sentence, every word, every letter: I always write with hope.

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