I used to have a way with words. I used to play them like the most beautiful Stradivarius; they have had a hidden melody and depth. Now? Now I hardly recognise the person who looks at me back in the mirror. Who is the person in the reflection who doesn’t smile and whose eyes became ice blue?
It’s hard to get to used to the thought and reality of knowing that one is mentally ill. It’s so much harder than accepting physical illness. Both requires of me to take medications, both of them make my life miserable and they leave broken paths. Heart and mind – how ironic! My lost mind breaks my already ill heart.
I could have written all about how hard it is to deal with the stigmas of mental illness and get through it, but instead I’m going to write down my mind – because that’s something I have never truly been able to understand, since I was a little girl.
But if you are reading it, stranger, know that you will get there one day you will look at your scars and remember that you indeed have gone through it even if right now – like me – your wrist has to be wrapped in a bandage because your cuts were too deep and too dangerous..
I’m falling asleep; my sleeping pills and antidepressants are my new aesthetics – they are the pink-est things I own.