I tire of it.
The machinery --the cogs and wheels and endless, tedious gears-- of dragging
my misfiring brain through a day with a modicum of dignity and a whiff of grace
is an exhausting prospect to meet every morning.
I tire of it, but more importantly I cling to it. I gladly mash my face into its gears each day, vowing
never to let go.
The constant paradoxes of mental illness are invisible to most, but are
relentlessly present nonetheless.
Yes, I tire of it.
Until tomorrow…
Chloe
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