Used to
romanticize the ill;
used to see myself in their shadows,
head down, walking in asylums,
the only place that would take them anymore.
I am not alone here,
and we do not call them asylums anymore.
I do know that for a while I could not get up to take my dog out
so I let her **** on the living room floor for
days.
My therapists say if I wasn't feeling worse during recovery
then it wouldn't be working.
I feel worse.
I felt happy this morning
then realized it was
again because I had not eaten.
Lunch is at 3, takes 2 hours to eat, and breakfast was
skipped.
I do not romanticize the life of the ill, anymore.
I am in that mind now.
I am in that sound now.
Forgive me, I have filled up half a journal with two weeks of being here but
I still have not found the words to describe it.
I beg for destruction,
but can't climb out.
This is the
borderline.