Chapter 28: The Ghost in My Head

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Imaginary friend.


I slit my wrist
when the cracks in me widen.
I speak to myself
without knowing—
words spilling like shadows in an empty room.

Sometimes I hear my own voice
and it frightens me.
I ask myself why?
But depression and anxiety
are squatters that never leave.

Flashbacks strike like fists—
yesterday barging in uninvited.
My memory is a picture frame
I never asked to hang.

Selective recall is crueler still.
I stand before the mirror,
and see someone who swears
they’ve never lived the memory
their mind insists is theirs.



Talking to my demon.

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