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 |  A support forum for writers dealing with mental illness |
30th JULY 2018 I am sick. I don’t really sleep at night, even though I’m exhausted. And when I do sleep I am trapped in hideous, incomprehensible dreamscapes that leave me drained and confused upon waking. I try to battle against it, but I am losing energy fast, and I have no desire to do anything, I can’t feel anything. The world has turned dark. I see everything in black and white, like a photograph that has been shopped with a greyscale filter. In the 21st century, we are not supposed to be afraid of mental illness. We are supposed to be able to be open about it, and talk about it, and everyone is supposed to try and understand it. But that isn’t true, is it? Because I have to try and hide it, like the mark of the plague, like an ungainly scar. I have to push it down, and push it down, and pretend it isn’t there, and hope nobody sees it, peeking out from the edges of my consciousness. And when it rears its ugly head, I have to try and disguise it, make an excuse for it which people will comprehend. And I have to run from it, I have to run from it as fast as I can. I have to outrun the wicked thing, or it will kill me.      |
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