I am diseased. An unshakable lethargy has seized my bones, it inches through every tendon and muscle, weakening me from the inside, paralyzing my brain. I feel thoroughly disgusted by the rigor mortis that has set in to that part of me which should make me tick, and fill me with an urgency to act, to live, to accomplish things with purpose. And I know the enemy is myself. Myself, binding my wrists, and laughing in my own face. I can feel the hateful derision of myself, lurking at the periphery of my consciousness, mocking me for ever hoping to do more than dissolve into non-existence. It is a great effort to exit this damned house of mirrors constructed and contained in my own head, for the purpose of nothing other than to tease and test my own self. How easily I fall back without the consistent effort to remain tiptoed at the forefront of awareness, at the very edge between myself and reality.
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