Every two weeks, something inside me shifts. Starting with my thoughts. My mood. My sense of self and then my personality. Eventually this shift bleeds into every part of me, clouding my judgement and altering my shaky reality — the perception of it at least. The dysphoria continues and the paranoia begins to run deep. Before I know it, I can't sleep, despite the deep fatigue that plagues me— ultimately resulting in chronic a state of exhaustion that I can't even begin to describe.
The agoraphobia kicks in and so does the self isolation —often resulting in me putting nearly my entire life on hold until it passes. Until I'm me again. The real me at least.
