I'm still nervous about the global political climate, I'm still full of emotional turmoil, and I'm still going to be blogging about both of those things.
You are important to us because you are Leia Organa. But you are more important to me because you are Carrie Fisher.
I have a strange and wonderful and terrible and contentious relationship with this time of year.
His phone call to the charity was shared as a courageous exposé. I had to stop watching after three minutes because I was on the edge of a memory-scarred panic attack.
The horrible cough-and-cold mixture is the ultimate magnification of all the things that push those sensory overload buttons in my brain.
A century later, arms companies hold remembrance day events, paying with money steeped in the very red the poppies on their lapels bade them never spill again.
I didn't want to be asexual. I didn't realise that I didn't have to relinquish my beloved bisexual identity in order to make some space for this little bit of ace.
I don't know how old I was when I first learned that I had to shout 'fire' if someone tried to grab me.
It seems appropriate, on this World Mental Health Day, to admit that I'm struggling.
I accept that this isn’t the kind of grandiose statement the great poets of our time will write songs about. But it is a huge, empowering revelation for me.