it-is's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- in progress I used to come here for solace. To find my voice and set it down somewhere safe. Concrete. To leave my mark on the world. And then, one day, I was given what I thought was a gift: a diagnosis. Definition. Thick, sturdy outlines that I could see, taste, touch. Push against. They gave me weight, when I was weightless. But the problem with external forces moulding you into shape, as I discovered, is that they consume you. I drowned, and willingly. It was easier to sink, than to swim against a current of medical literature and stigma and an overwhelming mental health care system. It is like displacing yourself with the broken self you're told you are. I fought every part of me they considered a symptom, fought to the death. Eradication. 8:35 p.m. - 2015-06-29 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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