Molly Brodak

aybe a person can just be a regular man with problems, who just keeps making increasingly bad choices to cope with the messes from old bad choices, over and over. Does it have to be that he is a sociopath

It’s underappreciated, I think, how quickly children can come to understand how to deal with adults in order to survive

I don’t want to see these words touching these true things. They are all wrong. This whole language I’m using is wrong. Language itself seems to fall to pieces when it touches certain topics.

maybe there’s an even better joy than redemption in knowing that pain isn’t currency. It can be discarded! Maybe it isn’t a raft, it isn’t an identity, it isn’t some grand cosmic test, it isn’t shit.

Mental illness is a gray cloud inside of a gray cloud. It gets sharpened into focus with different names, but names change, and with that, identities change.

Then I stopped reading novels. Too many families in novels

You transform yourself all the time, and a new self sticks if you keep choosing it.

Maybe private worlds are all there are. Talking about them is a way of conjuring gravity between them, a way to pull them near and make them matter to each other. I mean, to make any one of them matter at all. Certainly the force of describing them also changes them.
But it can’t be better to say nothing.
Everyone lives alone in families. Everyone goes alone into action, love, and work. Sometimes, it’s why we work. Everyone goes alone into sickness, too.

See there? That bit, you know, he tapped the MRI image. I saw but did not kno

mostly told no one. I was fine. And not. Like most people.