head case

It’s hard when you think you’re getting better and suddenly the realisation dawns that you’re not.

The crying starts again. The isolation. The self-loathing and, with it, the idea of self-harm.

The exhaustion. The hopelessness. The worthlessness.

A plane flies low over my house. I hope it’s going to crash into me.

When you thought all that was behind you.

And then you realise it’s all ahead.

Back to hiding away, metaphorical underpants on head.


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