We meet again, in case you forgot my name is kailyn. My old familiar friend is here again. Probably and sadly enough the only configuration that feels natural to me. I swear I can see it approaching under the crack where my bedroom door meets the floor. I’m taken back to years where I swore the Grim Reaper was waiting for me, always a few feet behind waiting...waiting...waiting. He said to me, “I’m right here, always watching and...waiting.” He told me it’s where I belonged and he would always find me. A looming cloud that grew and grew until it flooded my mind and everything I thought I knew I no longer believed. It’s a funny thing when I think about how for so long I thought it was normal, now it is normal, it has a name, a label. Still not sure if that makes a difference but everyone else seems to think so. Harder to “treat” but it seems to be easier on everyone else when I’m physically and mentally rendered immobile. Everything I thought was good, everything that was pure is simply nonexistent and I can’t remember what it was like before. “When will it end?” I cry to myself every night but even I grow to accept that this is my new reality. Hopeless melancholy is the perfect recipe for this heartache that drags on and I start to think that this is growing old, tired and overplayed for everyone around me. It’s a grieving time and my sister holds me through the night and tells my mother I cried in my sleep. A man, a boy stands 6’3” over my bed. Who is that? I can’t even recognize love in front of me anymore. It’s my brother, in distress over my condition followed by baby sister bringing me crystals. I’ll take all the help I can get but I can’t help myself. I find solace not from family or friends but in Halsey, and in Carrie Mathison from Homeland. Characters whom I feel truly understand me. I said only a few days ago, “something bad is going to happen to me,” a lingering prediction of what was to come but it still knocks me off my feet every time. Nice to meet you, I don’t recognize myself.
