Below are the prompts and my responses for the writing workshop at CAMH. I'll have the second-to-last class today in about half an hour.
To have my heart be so full that I start leaking out of my
eyes. To look back and see how much I put myself through, where I used crystal
meth almost every day. To feel the crash as the drugs emptied out of my veins.
If only they would give out doctorates for lived-experience, would people take
me seriously now? I want to speak about art, finance, capitalism, the immense
size of the universe, the poetry of nebulas. Will I be taken seriously? Then, I
remember, little Jose, or, wawit, as his family calls him. Loved. Beloved.
Someone who is just trying to do his best in this world, with the time that he
has. Just to be kind and helpful. So, as my heart grows so full that I start
leaking out of my eyes, I smile, amused at the road I stand on.
What is addiction, to me, but a way to numb myself out of joy. Why do I draw a boundary between myself and joy? Do I feel unworthy? Who or what system told me that I am unworthy to dance?
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