I've always acknowledged other people's mental anguish and suffering but never my own. It seemed so selfish to do so. However, I see in my loved one's eyes severe anguish and concern over me and within those eyes I see nothing else but a reflection of myself. I know I'm suffering but I can't be seen or heard to be suffering. It's embarrassing and I will be seen as someone who is losing my mind. In lockdown I often reached out for a glass of scotch both in my mind and in reality. In between the blink of that thought, the drink had already reached the bottom of my throat leaving a burning sensation in my chest. A momentary relief from my wild thoughts. My multiple selves are reaching out to you for some comfort and support but i don't want to burden you, my love. Mind scratches and blurs occur in my head causing my suffering to become nothing less than mountain high problems. Monsters and people with gnarling teeth come at me, attacking my mind. I try to shake them off. It's a waiting game, eventually, they will go away ... at least for today. My art teacher back in the day told me about Vincent and then Whitley reminded me of Vincent when I was on the tram looking outside the window. These days I'm nothing but in the picture with Vincent.