I know what it feels like to have your hand to the fire. Holding it there. Unsure of how much you can stand.
I know what it feels like when emotions — or a lack thereof — can feel as painful as a saw making its way through skin and bone.
I know what it feels like to open your eyes and see grey and dark and be absolutely unable to see the sunlight that is so obviously peeking through the trees.
And I know what it’s like to ask “what if this never ends?” To ask it over and over again. Terrified of the answer.
Sometimes I flash to a tall building on fire. People clinging to window frames whose glass has long since abandoned its place. People terrified of the fire. Logical thought giving way to panic and despair.
The drop below can seem like a refuge. A safe flight away from the searing flames.
But the flames in our head, the flames of depression and illness, aren’t real. There is no fire. The darkness that exists is created by a combination of hormones and neurochemicals and pain.
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