anxiety, autism, autisticspectrum, Body dysmorphia, Bodydysmorphicdisorder, depression, expat, family, mental health, mental illness, parenting, postnatal, postnataldepression, recovery

Shackles. 

And you can’t imagine how it might feel,

To live trapped inside a broken mind.

Spinning around in ferocious, meaningless circles,

Faster, faster.

Useless.

Fat.

Guilty.

Unworthy.

Failure.

Disgusting.

Thoughts of all the ways you would love to stand out,

And of all the ways you simply need to disappear.
Thinking of a million, beautiful reasons to stay alive.

And finding two million more to give in. 

When the horror of the mirror makes you nauseous,

But for the eyes and the minds of your children, you hide it.

The face of your husband makes you feel you could fly,

But the way his eyes move over your body, like a rake of glass..

Crash.

You’re spinning and  fucking spinning,

And the room is filled with noise.

Loud noise.

The sound of making love,

Of my children laughing,

Fighting, screaming and then;

Silence, blisteringly painful silence.

I slide back into myself and will for it to stop.

When will it stop?

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