I hate when you feel like you're crazy. When people tell you you're so smart and kind and beautiful and you can't believe any of it, you could believe that you're standing on purple stones more yet when you're told of your supposed flaws you fucking crumble. Mental illness feels like a curse. A true, blue curse. I'd take the leech and its suffocation over this, because at least it deals its blows swiftly. Mental illness sucks the life from you; not your breath, but your joy. It takes from you the will to live and you feel like you're lost in a caul of your oncoming madness. You feel trapped even though you're in the safest place in the world, you're laying in your bed at home and your mom's cooking dinner and your cat's asleep in the other room but you feel like the room could collapse in on you at any moment, any moment you're not watching that night. So that's why you've got to keep watching, to hope for the best. It's better to fall and know you tried than to sweep it under the rug and be a fool. Better to go down with a fight than no fucks to give at all.