i’m not always like this. 

I have a disease, therefore I am never alone. I am closely followed by the darkness of my disease. Sometimes I can keep ahead of the darkness and live in the light. But the second I let my guard down, the darkness catches up and I am submerged. Blinded. Gasping for air. The darkness swallows me whole. I go numb. Nothing makes sense. My core becomes hallow. Everything hurts. My mind completely absent. And then comes the laughter. The happiness and hopefulness. Entirely unaware of how I could ever be so unhappy. Like I was minutes earlier. Thus the cycle has made its loop. Happy. Unhappy. Content. Ecstatic. Anxious. Furious. Elated. This is my disease. 


I am numb. Numb and floating. Floating somewhere I’ve never been, yet always end up. Darkness. The darkness eats me whole. It starts by slowly crushing in my limbs closer and closer into my core, which from there causes my being to implode until I am small. Small and broken. More broken than I was before the darkness. And I can’t escape. I can try. I can avoid it for a while. But it always comes back for me. The darkness. The brokenness inside of my chest thrives. I can feel it everywhere I go. A constant reminder that I am not okay. It hurts. It makes it hard to breathe. Once the darkness in my chest finds fuel, it builds. And builds. Until I can’t take it anymore and I break. My chest erupts with fire and my throat is clenched shut. So vulnerable. I break. I break back into that small creature surrounded by darkness. I fear that one day the darkness is all I will see. I will never escape. It will eat me alive. Until then, I am numb.