Last September, I believed my brain was on fire. Not in some metaphorical way. It was, as far as I was concerned, on fire.
I am bipolar and I was hallucinating. My hallucinations can be sensory, like the brain burn, but many are auditory — I know hallucinations are coming when I hear birds speak. I can tell you what the birds say, but what matters is how intensely personal it is, being shouted at by a fierce small crowd: persist persist persist from one, six degrees yes yes yes from another.
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