Its presence is intangible yet so prominent I can’t ignore it.
I often wonder who I am without it… Am I enough without issues? They add a new dimension to my underwhelming existence.
I hope to visit a place where my mind is healthy. I wonder what it will be like. The unfamiliarity of stability leaving me terrified perhaps? Will I be immune to those feelings of panic?
My eyes refreshed, able to view with clarity an image of
life so foreign, that it cannot accept what it sees. A lens stained permanently
with black ink obstructing any light to come through.
I have no visible injuries, nonetheless wounded, attempting to take part in life’s events feel like walking on broken legs with the fear of the crutches removed
at any time without warning,
Days, months even years of feeling like I’ve mastered what
it takes to manage, just be triggered into a spiral of suicidal thoughts,
It’s a marathon, fighting for the will to do things others do
seemingly with ease
The truth is I’ll be
exhausted before I meet you,
When I recluse and you don’t understand why, neither do I. I don’t understand much, my mind is subject to what the illness wants.
When you’ve practically grown up with poor mental health it becomes almost impossible to differentiate your own voice from the voice of the sickness
A disease that spreads and infects healthy cells into its
own until it gains complete control
Now it functions through you, and every day is a battle is to
find your own voice and assert its authority. A war that no one can
hear but me.
It screams loud when there
is disruption and even louder when there’s silence