Lights shine like birthday candles; they are warm and inviting.
Conversations are welcoming and intriguing.
I have been making some of the best art I have ever seen.
It is clear to tell they care about me, and that I will be remembered.
Light is starting to become an irritating sting to the back of my eyes, I always hated white light.
White light feels like needles instead of warm candles.
The words I once welcomed now feel like they are being shoved between my ears.
My wrist is burning from trying to pump out work, I just have to finish this one detail…
I am sure they will not mind if I slip away to recharge, we all need that once in a while.
The needles now are larger and hurt from the front of my eyes as well.
Ears now full of noise I cannot differentiate or comprehend, it all hurts me.
God, has my art always looked like this? Why are the lines so shaky? I swear they did not look like that before.
I want to leave but I don’t know if they will notice my disappearance or not.
Everything is becoming a quiet buzz now, but not in a way that is comforting.
It feels like I am underwater and I can’t get out.
I don’t want to be a bother, I will continue to be silent to make sure they know I like being around them.
But I don’t know if they can tell I am still here.
This is the worst kind of sensory deprivation.
Everything but nothing at the same time.
Like I am outside of my body, trapped in the brain.
I need someone to look at me, notice something is wrong.
Please just speak clearly so I know you can see me.
I cannot fathom being forgotten; it has happened before.
I do not want it to happen again. I have finally gotten all the company I wanted.
I cannot let that go.
I do not want to disappear.
There is something ironic about being afraid of being forgotten with a mind that likes to shut everything out.
Something ironic about wanting to disappear, but not wanting to be forgotten.
I am now learning I do not want to do either.