This is a story for whom mental illness is ugly. Without friend. Family. Ecosystem. Without recourse to fake a plot. For those with a fragile idenitity and emotions that bear down. Hard. Disordered thoughts, a morning cuppa tea. Crying a mind to sleep, knowing the brain be wired wonky. No knowledge to prove it. For whom anger is the first, and last. No nuance. Addicted to pain. Befriended by shame. Craving sunshine, what pours down is rain.
To spurn such afflictions are common. Mental illness is ugly, I said. Blame not the other. Stigma needs a source. The result. Isolation. Staving the spread of disease, coddled in the arms of aloneness. This is a story for all those that can relate. Can you?
The happy ending must be in the never ending journey.
This faith is what I can muster.