It’s like its dark and it will never be light again.

It’s like a migraine and I want to be left alone in the dark, in the quiet.

But why won’t the phone ring?

Something is terribly wrong and it’s gotten so bad I know I can’t hide it. Then why has no one noticed and come to my rescue?

It’s like sleep. It’s like a dream. None of the monsters are as real or as scary as they seem.

And I do sleep, to get away. But sleep doesn’t come easily. Thoughts chase me. Voices mock me. Imaginary conversations with real people carve into me and now I know what they really feel about me.

The longer it lasts the more real it becomes. This is me. The old me? The happy one? She was the illusion.

I don’t want to get on pills again. Why is there no cure? Maybe it will go away on its own. I know it won’t. It never did before. Before. There was never a time before the darkness. The dark cloud before my eyes obscures all things past and future and all I can see is this present darkness. This is what I am. I’ve never been anything better. This is what I am. I’ll never be anything more.

No one understands. “It’s not that bad.” “It will get better.” “When it rains it pours.” They don’t see things as I do. And I know they are trying to help, to comfort. But making me feel like I’m overreacting and my problems are surmountable doesn’t help and only makes me feel more helpless against the darkness.

Tears only bring more pain and guilt. Kind words only bring anger and frustration.

It’s like its dark and it will never be light again.