I don't know what I feel anymore. Perhaps, I'm not feeling anything at all. Again. One moment, I'm in the midst of extreme desperation for death. The next, I'm filled with false hopes of an enchanting illusion.
In this life, it's not an impossibility to have a mental illness. It's one of the few things everyone probably shares. And everyone probably hides. People just deny its existence. People still refuse to believe it, thinking it's a taboo subject you never discuss with anyone. So everyone, despite being unstable, quietly suffers. Tucking themselves under their own sheets every waking day. Embracing guilt and isolation without a second thought. Until they forget they are not in need of a helping hand. Hoping the cure is denial. Wishing time will do its part in the process of healing.
But it doesn't go away. It never does. It comes back time and time again. Haunting you without a warning. Disturbing your sleep without recourse.
It needs no explanation. Most of the time, it cannot be explained. It is just this sudden pain of existing. Fast, it turns the blue skies grey. Shattering the thin walls of sunshine you worked so hard to build. It's fear. It's emptiness. It's a mountain of nothingness. It's real.
(artwork by mark david)
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