Inside it is flat, claustrophobic, lonely. Can't think in a way that is helpful or might keep me safe. It is too much to expect to be able to talk or write my way out.
All perspective has changed. I've become small, with a dark angry 'self' heavy on my back. Anger either turns to guilt or is only ever directed at myself. It is wounding, opens scars, makes holes inside I'm scared to fall into.
I feel toxic, which means I want to stay away from people. It's not something anyone wants to see or know or be around. I have to present a different and more acceptable 'self' but can't always do it and anyway, she's false.
If I pick up my violin it won't work. If I open a book the words just slide off the surface of my medicated brain. If I try and talk I'll draw a blank. An unwell mind + a well mind = panic. An inablity to know.
I am trying, but holy crap there's always another damn snake on the board whenever I move and not enough ladders - or they don't take me as far as I'd like. I go back all the time, but never to square one, which is something to keep in mind. I have moved further than I think sometimes and moving slowly is surely better than not moving at all.
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