The author of this piece wishes to remain anonymous.
What a day it’s been. What a week, a year.
The people caring for me are kind. The nurses and the doctors, the support workers.
Yes, they are kind and thoughtful, and seek to help me.
This place is warm, but alien, of course. Outside the winter sky looks hostile.
I feel like I am lacking a skin.
When they drive me back, I am left alone with the thoughts, the endless thoughts.
How has it come to this. I barely recognise the skin I’m in.
Within a few months I’ve been brought to the edge, struck down. I wonder what sin I have committed.
I wish I could take refuge. That some peace could come. I wish I could relax, or hide in memories.
Everything feels barbed and sharp. The cold freezes every part of me. The whole world amplifies my fear.
It is as if my soul is shivering. I did not believe such discomfort, such pain, was possible. My very spirit shrivels in the gales. The deadly wait for the chemical night.