Like any relationship, the one between mental illness and 'self' has its ups and downs, it has its own balance or sometimes an imbalance, but it takes work. Sometimes, more work than the ability we have to do so.
I sat on the cold ground of the smoke filled room. I can’t see your face but I can hear your whispers. For they scar deep beyond my dreams. To the bone, your broken promises cut my porcelain skin. Your voice lingers heavier than the smoke. I can feel your breath crisp the air I … Continue reading The Smoked Filled Room.