Something has changed for me, my lovelies. Years of introspection, lessons learned, and struggle has brought your beloved Twisted Libra to a healthy and stable place, mentally speaking. I have grown significantly as a person, and dare I say I have conquered my demons. Seriously, no longer are we locked in battle; we cuddle and boop snoots. I am healed from years of pain and suffering within my own mind. Chronic depression never truly goes away, but I now possess the skills to manage my slumps in a positive fashion rather than allowing myself to sink to the black depths of nothingness. I spent most of my life face down on the bottom of an ocean of despair. Those days are behind me at last…and it has me just a little bit worried.

Am I not happy? No, of course I am happy. Truly happy, for the first time in my life. So, why am I so worried? Well, I feel my greatest work was spawned from moments of darkness and gloom. I write for catharsis; if I have no need for release from dark burdens, what shall serve as my muse? I suppose my newfound fear is, without the sadness and pain dragging me down to that proverbial bottom, will I still be able to write? Will it be any good? As someone who has spent their entire life in the shadows of depression, I’m not at all confident that I can create from a place of joy. What if this is the end of Twisted Libra?

Okay, so maybe I am being just a tad melodramatic. I am quite a talented writer. It’s just that I have never (in my own opinion) successfully written much when basing my words on positive feelings. I have always found the beauty in darkness; can I find that same beauty if I step out of the shadows and embrace a brighter mentality? How does one find inspiration outside of the macabre? Can upbeat positivity exist within the realm of the macabre? This is all such new territory for me. I feel somewhat like a beginner. No one told me that healing could come at such a cost. I have danced with the dark muse my entire life, swaying to a sultry rhythm of haunting melancholy. Now, the up-tempo number is beginning and I don’t know any of the steps. What if I fall flat on my ass?

I suppose the outcome of this part of my journey is akin to a casket made of glass: remains to be seen. (Think about it. You’ll laugh.) I won’t lie, your darkly delicious Twisted Libra is a little afraid. Can I be dark and happy? Do I write about death while I smile? Can I tap into those macabre parts of my mind without fully giving myself over to misery? I honestly do not know. I hope you will join me for this journey into good mental health. There is no map; I’m winging this bitch. As soon as I figure out what this means for Twisted Libra, I will let the world know.

Until next time…
























