Everyday is a goddam battle. The alarm goes off and I am instantly anxious. I open my eyes and wish I could fall back to sleep because even nightmares are better than facing the reality of that which they tell me is my life.
I have precisely 2 hours and 15 minutes before I am due to make my way to college for 3 hours of psychology and then be further expected to endure an hour of teenage frivoloity and hullabaloo, before returning to a stuffy room and further focus my already exhausted brain in more education. For me this process is the equivalent of the London marathon. I will have approximately 2 panic attacks during the first 3 hours and have to run from the room as discreetly as I am able. This phenomenal physiological process literally wipes me out.
Daytime is war. There is no trench to catch a nap in, no safe place to lay down my weapons and when I throw the grenade it comes straight back because this war does not have a battle field. It is a house of mirrors and I am the only soldier here.
Night time is still war, only the mirrors are darkened and I cannot comprehend the enemies whereabouts so I stumble blindly breaking glass and misting mirrors until my my brain gives up and transports me to a fresh station.
Sometimes I wonder if this is all just some psychosis and I am in fact strapped down to a hospital bed somewhere, floral nightgown sagging from my frail frame. This cannot be real. I refuse to believe this is my life. No one asks for this and I have been fighting so long to win my recovery. This can only be an eternal hell.
I do not fear death, for I am sure death already knocked on my door.