"No personally identifiable thought and no clear speech. Just a detached sense of owning a body that shakes until collapse and self-destructs under unpredictable pressure. This is the daily mix of physically manifested interruptions, courtesy of my brain chemistry.
How is one supposed to overcome herself when that sense of ‘self’ is intertwined with a warped mirror and an even more twisted mental reflection?
'It's not all so bad, and certainly not all the time. There are things to enjoy, appreciate, and love!' These are the simple words that are supposed to get me by..and they often do, barely. Part of me believes this short mantra, while the other parts transform their quietly looming presences to an overwhelmingly loud nothingness that consumes what little positivity remains.
‘You were wrong for giving up the very act of giving up. You were right to pop those pills, wash it down with liquid medicine and liquor, inhale that coke, enjoy that molly, get lost in a world reconstructed by psychedelics just to get through the week. You should have submitted to escape and ecstasy- they’re one in the same anyway.’
-The nagging, confusing voice
P.S. Please leave for good.
-The kind, recovering voice”