I spent a lot of time alone as a child. In the dark woods covered in thick Kudzu vines amongst giant oaks draped in sleepy Spanish moss, I would spend my time day-dreaming. This is where my dialogue as a writer began, as whispers back and forth with the trees. The open flowers and honeysuckles were like microphones — they were all listening to me and understood me, and I drew understanding from them. It is in nature that I found my voice through my own imaginary world — an only child with no real friends. Alone in nature I was safe from the remarkable bullies who tormented me and tried to pollute my innocence with their demented cruelty, fear and self-loathing. Like it had been put in them, it was put in me; they transmitted their fear to me like the disease it is — their viciousness, ignorance, and rage infected me. The way the Kudzu vines strangle a forest is how my innocence was overcome; a slow and relentless act of suffocation and domination that stole a part of my childhood.
— Bryant McGill
post "Once you connect with yourself, it is impossible to be lonely or desperate"