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22
I wake to the dream I’m in a world of broken glass. It’s everywhere: glittering slivers wafting in the air I breathe; jagged shards cobbled in the path I stand upon; serrated flakes that are tiled in glimmering fields, before rising into precariously stacked mountains; and a sky that might be a shattered mirror. I’m twenty-five and going through my second serious bout of depression, struggling to find functionality and purpose in a life that feels like it’s irreparably breaking. It’s not surprising to be here. Part of me, I think, abides here, and it’s a case of just how present I am. Now I am wholly here. Every step…
21
I wake to an exhaustion that tries to wrestle me back into sleep. Getting out of bed, I perform my morning stretches – the little I can do to get some motion into my neck and back without aggravating anything.…
20
I lay in bed, waiting to hear voices. My psychiatrist has asked me if I have heard voices, and told me if I do I’m to ignore them, so hearing voices must be a possibility. I’m nineteen, and new to…