But for now, I’m more tired than I can fathom, the aches in my bones are real and the sadness that I hold is water resistant and I can’t seem to rinse it off in the shower, no matter how much I scrub, it forever stains my skin. This week, heck the last two months have not been good to me. The secret realisation that I’ve not been ok since I was 7 and stopped eating or when I was 12 and I realised the bruises left upon my skin were a sin or when I was 15 and wanted to stop my heart the way water does when it fills up your lungs haunts me. The only voice I have heard for days is my own, it taunts me as it echoes cruelly off the four walls which encase my soul. Trapped. Trapped and the only way out is to dance to the rhythm of the grim reaper, forever lurking in the shadows of my consciousness.