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I first discovered Esme Weijun Wang’s work when I was dipping my toe into the world of chronic illness online. She was kind enough to talk to me during the summer of 2017, when I didn’t leave the house because the change to my body was too apparent in my appearance and in the CVS plastic walker I needed to shuffle around. Trapped in a pink bedroom with only my thoughts and the internet, she became a sort of all knowing priestess to me. Her honesty about her life with schizoaffective disorder, coupled with the academic precision with which she writes about how both her body and mind have betrayed her, is unparalleled.
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