Sometimes I think I’m cured and there’s nothing to be scared of anymore, and Sometimes I feel it sucking me back under. I catch a glimpse of what it used to be like, unmedicated, or what it can still be like, medicated but not carefully watched like a small child. I stay out of journals and pretend there’s nothing to write in them, but what if I whispered on paper that if I didn’t put that pill in my mouth every day this thing will come back and ruin us all?
















