DIY non-intrusive brain surgery

Therapy helped.
Psychedelic-adjacent introspection helped.
Journaling with my dominant hand helped… like a hostage note helps the hostage.

Then one day I thought:

What if I gave the OTHER hemisphere a turn?
Worst case scenario, I summon a demon. Best case? Neuroplasticity.

Spoiler: it was both.

What Writing Left-Handed Actually Feels Like

Imagine trying to write while:

• sedated,

• mildly possessed,

• and also maybe piloting your body via remote desktop from a McDonald's Wi-Fi network.

It’s not elegant.
It’s not graceful.
Your handwriting will look like a Victorian ghost is trying to communicate through a drunk toddler.

But somewhere in that eldritch chicken scratch?

Truth leaks.

Not the curated “therapy voice” truth.
I mean the primal stuff your frontal lobe duct-taped in a crawlspace like:

• We’re still mad about that one time in 2003.

• Your family tree is just trauma wearing outfits.

• Burn everything and move to Portugal.

• Eat grapes, we deserve grapes.

The left hand doesn’t have manners.
It only has motives.

Fun Discovery: Your Non-Dominant Hand Is Your Inner Goblin

Your right hand writes like LinkedIn.
Your left hand writes like it has a switchblade and unresolved ancestral curses.

Right hand:

My intention for today is balance and gratitude.

Left hand:

REVENGE IS A FORM OF BALANCE.

Right hand:

I deserve rest.

Left hand:

WE HIBERNATE WHEN OUR ENEMIES ARE DEAD.

Is it alarming? Yes.
Is it helpful? Also yes.
Is there a moment where you wonder if you’re splitting into two personalities like a prestige-TV protagonist?
…maybe don't answer that out loud.

The Birds Started Happening

At first the drawings were… I don’t even know how to describe them.

If anxiety, a dinosaur, and a Sharpie had a love child?
That.

But eventually they got sharp.
Intentional.
A little smug.

Birds are funny like that.
They don’t apologize.
They don’t do self-doubt.
They stare at you from the fence like:

“You could leave anytime, babe. The sky’s RIGHT THERE.”

It’s hard to stay pathetic when an imaginary crow you drew is judging you.

Reality Changes When You Glitch Yourself On Purpose

Here are side effects nobody warns you about:

• You get funnier. Darker, but funnier.

• You stop believing society’s bullshit binary rules.

• Your trauma stops running the board meetings in your skull.

• Suddenly you have preferences?? Boundaries?? Hope???
  (Gross, but okay.)

You also start noticing red flags faster, like a mental bouncer:

Nope. That’s a cult in business-casual form. We’re leaving.

And most importantly:

You stop living like someone who is waiting to be “allowed” to be whole.

Because once you teach your brain it has more than one lane,
you stop accepting small cages.

Is It Healing or Is It Witchcraft? Yes.

This isn’t gratitude journaling.
This is shadow integration by way of motor-skill humiliation.

It’s exorcism with sticky notes.

It’s giving your psyche a second voice and discovering she is feral, hilarious, and technically correct 87% of the time.

Also: capitalism absolutely hates this practice.

Which is precisely how you know it’s working.

A Ritual for the Wonky-Brained and Spiritually Chaotic

Tonight, grab a pen.

Use the dumb hand.

Write one sentence — graceless, jagged, cursed-looking.

Try something like:

My life is a haunted funhouse and I'm still collecting tickets.

Or

I refuse to be emotionally left-handed forever.

Or simply,

Not today, generational trauma. I’m busy mutating.

Then draw a bird that looks like it would stab someone for the last blueberry pancake.

Congratulations.

You just tapped the part of your brain that still has claws.

Remember

You’re not trying to be perfect.

You’re trying to be whole.

Half your power was locked in the hand you ignored.

And now?

You’re waking it up.

If that feels a little dangerous…

Good.

Evolution always does.

🖤✒️🕊️