The sword in the stone

I had to reinvent myself to escape the pain. Invisible but alive. I had to save myself, I had to escape. There’s evidence to the contrary. That we can shoulder the blame. But a wound is a wound. Whether bleeding or not, it’s all the same. There are always walls. In your head or in the way. You hear the words on repeat. You’re not worthy enough to be saved. Your birth was an accident. You would’ve chosen the easy path. But every road has curves. Invisible lines aren’t drawn on any maps. How do I justify the camouflage? How do I detect the concealed? The desperation, the misery. I can’t find it, it must not be real. My illness is the reason I stopped trying. The source of all my despair. I played it safe, I’ve played it weak. This affliction has made me emotionally impaired. Bitterness and irrational. My effort to appear sane. I hate myself for taking the path of least resistance. Excruciating blame. Inconsolable and defeated. I am planning my own imprisonment. Invisible and permanent. I will take all your pity until there’s nothing left.