I've always been creative. I've been told I'm very good at drawing and writing, although I can often only see flaws in what I do. Being thirteen, I'm still stuck in school (Middle School is the worst place you can imagine), and I am a level or two higher than average in English, and above-average for most things, so I have nothing much to complain about in most people's eyes, and usually not in mine either. But I am different to everyone I know. I write poems in my spare time, because, in many cases, I feel that if I don't write them I will most likely explode. I re-read them later on, and am embarrassed at what I've written- soppy, depressing- the only thing I can see that's good about them is the writing itself- the form of it; generally what my English teacher would look for.

I'll cut to the point because if you are reading this you will be bored by now. You are the most inspiring person I know of. Your songs are not only technically perfect, but also slightly imperfect in a perfect way- that sentence probably only made sense to me. What I mean is that the simplicity of it- the ukulele and singing, or the piano, combined with the semi-complicated notes and key-changes and stuff (I'm not a musician!) and the raw emotion behind all the songs, and the powerful lyrics that make me laugh and cry at the same time- it all amounts to something so intense and powerful, yet so light-hearted and innocent that I am often moved to tears (not in front of other people though!).
The past few months have been hard (don't judge me- I know I'm thirteen therefore that sounded weird, but I'm weird so it doesn't matter), but listening to your music and reading your blogs and poems have stopped me from going completely insane. THANK YOU.

This blog made me think mostly of the fact that you, like me, like everyone, are a normal human being, with normal problems and troubles, but also with an abnormal talent for expressing yourself, and creating pure beauty with hardly any effort. The paragraph:
“I feel cold and empty as I write this. I feel a sort of detachment that isn’t sadness, necessarily – but it’s on the same level as sadness. The drugs have tried to fix whatever’s wrong in my brain, and they have missed. They’ve hit me in a place I’m not sure I entirely understand even though I’m living through it, and if you were to ask me how I feel, I’d say I don’t know. If you asked me what I want to do, I’d say I don’t know either. I’m blank right now. There’s nothing inside me at all.”
Is a perfect example of what I'm talking about, and also reminded me of myself- I often feel completely emotionless, but also completely overrun with emotion- I know that's not completely what you meant, but it still made me feel like I wasn't alone.

You (and your blue hair) are amazing.

Sorry for the ridiculously long comment to someone I've never even met (but am in awe of all the same)- I know you don't care, for good reason, much about the thoughts of a weird thirteen-year-old girl, but I just had to comment.

i definitely know what that feels like. and it's not fun. i hate it, actually. i've been taking dexedrine since i was 15 (i'm 19 now). wow, i didn't even realize it had been that long. that is crazy. anyway i've been taking it for ADD but i tried once last fall to go off of it and i'm trying again now. usually i get on okay without it, but sometimes if i have a lot of schoolwork to do i take it. i just don't want to have to be medicated for the rest of my life, you know? anywho, i know you wrote this ages ago, but i just wanted to say that it's good to know i'm not the only one who feels this way sometimes.

I am also now completely convinced that people with this illness are not only obsessive-compulsive thinkers, but are both 1) highly intelligent to a fault, and 2) overtly and excessively creative in their own personal ways. I've also begun to wonder these days whether I've always had this feeling of emptiness hidden away inside of me, waiting to come out. But then again, it's not good to dwell. (Although, I'm sure you and I, and maybe Tom, are experts in the art of “dwelling”.) Nonetheless, you touch upon the truth. Artists are the reason for the beauty in this world. I wouldn't be surprised to find that Michelangelo, Caravaggio, and Jackson Pollock were all depersonalized manic depressives (if that exists, I don't know.) And since finding his music and other expressions of artwork this month, Tom's creativity has helped me too. To understand myself and others, and to give me hope.

I do hope he reads these comments. Because the key concept to overcoming our feelings of emptiness is to flat out realize we are NOT alone. Anyone who's anyone who “creates” and who's struggled to live a meaningful life knows what it means to hurt and to still persist. Because to persist in the face of pain is to know happiness and the beauty of being human.

Gee. I hope that I didn't get too personal either. haha I'm just so glad to have found some “like minds” on here.

My brother is a cognitive scientist, and he knows much more about behavioral medication than most psychiatrists, and he's explained to me a lot recently about how little is truly understood about these medications. I'm an American, and I don't know whether it's the same in Britain, but here minds have become business, and it honestly feels like to a degree, this focus on neurosis has bred them. I personally have never seen a therapist, so I'm not quite one to judge, but from what I've learned, it seems that mainly what they do is give you diagnosis and prescriptions that make people leave feeling much more diseased than when they went in. “Picky Eating” was considered as a psychological illness for the new DSM.

I believe in such a thing as neural diversity. Minds are infinitely, beautifully complex, as are troubles and differences. There cannot be a model of a perfectly healthy mind, and if one was attempted, it would be disastrous to try to force every brain into that model. Society itself is ill, so minds even must become slightly ill in a sense just to survive within it. Without differences between people, there would be no art, no evolution, and no beauty. I hope you'll be able to feel better, because though I don't think a difference such as yours should be called illness or defect, that doesn't make it any less painful. I think you're right, though, in the idea of trying to feel better not through medicating your brain's functions, but looking for more natural, specialized and meticulous cures, like friendship and introspection and epiphany and art and living in general. I guess, though, it's really not my place to suggest to someone I don't even know that they maybe shouldn't take behavioral medication. I've gotten very close to it myself, and often I internally debate whether or not it would be right to go on medication. I've never taken anything, so I really can't say I even know at all what it does to the mind. This is a little weird, leaving such a personal and lengthy message in a comment to semi-celebrity's blog. You get a lot of these and probably very few this long, so you may not even have read down this far. I'm hardly sixteen, so I really can't say I know as much as I act like I think I do on a subject as complicated and personal as the human mind, but I've watched your videos and listened to your music for two years and have been very effected by your music and art in general, especially watching it evolve into the level of amazing beauty and complexity it's reached now has been sort of inspiring. You are an incredible musician and seemingly an incredible person in general, and I believe probably, if not for the differences in how your mind works, it never would have been compelled or able to create such wonderful things, or be so interesting in general, or be the sort of person that so many people would want to be friends with or send flowers to. It's no one's place to say how you're supposed to work, but you work in a way that's unique and contributes a lot of amazing stuff to the world.

*both my mother and her husband are shrinks.
boy oh boy has teenagerhood been fun o_o

Maybe I didn't notice that this was posted a month ago. Either way, none of it really matters. I'm just clearing up that little most likely unnoticed and unread confusion on my part. You don't care and, really, neither do (should) I.

I'm adding to my foolishness right now… my selfish, 'look at me, I'm writing about myself' comment. God damn it.

I blame god (my therapist) for everything.

Flowers are, in the long run, pretty, happy things. I'm happy for your temporary happiness, though unhappy that the happiness is only temporary. If you live in London, I'd happily (noticing a theme?) send you muffins or cookies, because housewife-ish-ness runs in the family.

On a more/less serious note, I'm looking forward to the Upload Tour and may possibly be dragging everyone I know there with me (not including my grandmother). I think Painfully Mainstream actually turned my iPod into a sentient being with its beauty. Applause is in order. I'll post it as soon as I can.