there are times when I should be forbidden to write, such as when I am actively dysregulated and it’s late and I should be asleep but I’m not and writing feels less like partaking in the divine art of creation and more like inflicting something harsh upon anyone who cares to read – including myself, a little further along the timeline, when I wake up with a headache and a belly full of regret in the morning.

this concern does not usually stop me, though perhaps it would be kinder and more loving for everybody if it did.