If boundaries were brick walls, I’d lose my frontal lobe to ramming.
And when that chunk of brain was laying on the ground all minced to gory
pieces, I’d trample over its carcass trying to crash the next lobe in line into
that same bloody bricked up spot.
Stupid?
Or brave?
Don’t ask me. I lost that answer to the brick a long time ago.
Until tomorrow…
Chloe
Post-note: Living with a mental illness is often all about boundaries,
lines you simply can’t cross and remain happily sane… Twenty-five years inside
and I’m still killing myself trying to bust out.
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