MY FIRST BOOK

Am having a literature class where the teacher is a well-known author and a well-known mental illness survivor ...

I love this teacher , I admire his own ways of seeing the world , of seeing reality and the truth behind the well masked people and the ugliness that peeps behind every corner ..

I love watching him moving in class and talking his heart out analyzing a poem as if he's the one who wrote it. He feels every single sound of each word in the poem. I can not help but feeling sympathy towards him sometimes and towards myself.

He reminds me of my shatterd soul, my black teenagehood and of the images and voices that keep talking and talking in my head . Do I sound like that when am by myself in my room ? I looked around to see my friends' reactions to the magnificient dramatic play in front of them and most of them were either laughing or fed up with what he's talking about . What a shame I thought , If only they knew the hidden paradise he's trying to guide us to.

And I was happy. am not alone, am unique and am a genius. If that teacher standing in front of me is what am going to be then am more than glad and I am looking forward to the day I start talking about my illness and writing my first book.