It is difficult to say why it happens, difficult to say exactly how it feels, and difficult to share with others.
I want to tell the whole world what's wrong, and all at once keep it to myself forever without telling a soul.
I want to scream a million different things. Things about the torturous mind, about the hopelessness, about why the caged bird sings.
It watches like a falcon, silently waiting and watching, and then quietly pounces on every hope and joy until none remain.
It stalks the jungles of my thoughts like a jaguar, full of hunger and silent malice.
It strikes like a cobra. One brief violent flurry of fangs and venom, and then suddenly nothing.
Nothing, like it had never occurred, the mind can't seem to ever recall how it could have felt the way it did five minutes ago.
It leaves no scars, no clear marks, no blood, no bruises... it leaves not a trace of its lethal injection, barely a memory even remains.
But it happens, and it happens frequently. My hands begin to shake, my vision begins to blur, my breathing becomes strained, and every friend in the world melts into the earth and does not exist.
There is only me and the python, only me and this disorder, and it is a battle I fight very much alone.