October 2nd, 2018

Today, I had this thought.

It’s overcast, a glum, fall day in Paris, only the first like this, and I’d been pinned to my mattress by the weather and the suffocating sensation of depression. I fell into a 2-hour waking dream where I confessed to an old, random acquaintance of mine that despite all of my facades, and Instagram stories or whatever, I’m not feeling well.

And I need to be candid.

I’ve just finished writing a book, and am thoroughly exhausted from this experience, in the literal meaning, like an empty, discarded, rusting automobile. I’m tired of hiding this  side of me, and I’ve decided that I’ll take this blog a new, authentic direction, which doesn’t limit itself to drinks, bars, experiences, and ‘cool,’ but also confronts the situation of living abroad with depression, because it is in times of displacement where one can feel most vulnerable, and I’d like to write about it.

The two topics don’t inherently go together, in fact, they almost seem to oppose one another, but that’s life–we figure it out as we go.

Living abroad in regards to mental health.

Love you all, Alexander.

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