particularly peculiar

I’m an artist and a poet. So I’m dangerous in that way.

Written by Sophia Stopper
May 22, 2026

He said, You are the craziest girlfriend I ever had. By far. And I think part of him said that because he knows I still write to you. Among other things–he tries to boss me around and I always defy him. I think that’s lowkey why he loves me. And, yes, I have schizoaffective disorder. Yes. That makes me particularly peculiar. I’m an artist and a poet. So I’m dangerous in that way. Are you scared of what I’ll write?

Maybe I’ll admit that I’ve written to you weekly, sometimes daily, for nearly a year. With no response. I know I’ve said this but it quite literally drives me crazy that I cannot remember the last time we spoke. What about my delusion broke us so badly? Was it just that? That you saw me (again and again) in delusion?

There are so many misconceptions about schizo disorders. People always think violence. My delusions are always the same–that I’m supposed to follow the “light” and the “signs” to find you so we can get married and solve world peace. That’s my whole delusion and everything I do while I’m clinically insane is driven by those beliefs. It’s the most lover girl state of being anyone could ever experience.

Belief. That has gotten me so far in life. Highs and lows with it. Belief brought me above the clouds and around the world. Belief got me strapped down to a hospital bed. Belief in you has me coming back. Day in and day out–asking you–please, will you be in my corner?

One time I wrote: When I saw you composing ears to listen, I am quiet in my noticing. But what I wanted to say to you in this moment was–my daisy blooms for you. When I look at your art my daisy still blooms for you. When I look at your art the lamp in the library in my lighthouse home on the ocean’s coast in the center of my soul goes on. And I am centered in these moments. The chaos of the world stops breathing down my neck and I realize I am actually the one with the heavy breath. The thrill of saying your name in these moments is ineffable.

Yes dear, it’s been over a decade since we shared space and I am still climaxing to the thought of you. Happy? Your memory is embroidered into the marrow of my bones and your essence is stitched directly into my delusion. My blood’s red hue matches yours. If you cut us open you would see the mirror reflection. I cut out my heart every time I put pen to paper and I know you do too. That’s how I know our color is the same.

When I was in fifth grade we had to choose a career to research and write about as a projection for our future. I learned the word “screenwriter” because I had to look up the word for someone who writes movies. That’s specifically what I wanted to do in fifth grade. Not just to be a writer but to be a–screenwriter. And now I’m thirty-four writing, directing, and producing my first film. We just cast Lucy. Syd has been cast since November.

I honestly thought of this film concept while I was in my three-month psych ward stay during my last delusional episode. It’s funny because I never wrote down the idea, I just remembered it. Through the delusion. Through the recovery. Years later I finally started writing the screenplay. I remember being in the hospital and really wanting to email you about it, but there is no access to contacting the outside world beyond phone time and visiting hours. And I couldn’t call you and let’s be real you would never visit me. Sadly true.

I’m making a bilingual film because of you. Spanish is your language, not mine. But I’m including it out of respect to the character that is based on you. And I made the character that is based off me fluent too because in my imagination we can yell at each other in Spanish and then make up with a te amo or two or three or infinity.

Infinity. I want you to say te amo infinity times to me at this point and I will accept all or nothing. Will this be our downfall? Or are we already nothing but a bunch of unread emails?


My daily vision as of 2026.