Today I missed the sun. I slept through the day, woke reluctantly and groaned. Sleep is my safe zone. Dreams save me, hold me away from the reality in which I hold my breath, knowing that I am treading steps on creaking ice.

Not long now.

Not long until I do something drastic. Who knows what? All I know is what it's not.

The tension before a storm crackles through me and I am losing control. I know I will not die, for I am not afraid of death. I am afraid of life, and that is what I fear will be cracked and flung as broken mirror shards into an abyss of a society that does not see my insanity. I cloak it. At first only in public, then in front of friends, and now, family: I tremble in front of them and they tell me I can tell them, but they do not realise that I have reached a point where I.

Physically.

Cannot.

Speak.

...Not about this.

"I think I'm on the verge of self-harm." I want to reveal, but invisible hands smother my mouth and I am left gasping in silence.

"I think I might be breaking-" I whisper to them when they are not listening, but the people in my head tut and my words are lost on the winds of insecurity.

"I think I am broken." I sob with my eyes but they do not see. They cannot see.

8 Days left until someone does.

Tonight, mum left me to finish the washing up. I was washing a knife, and as soon as she shuffled out and away, the knife slipped out of my grip and clattered onto the basin. Tears dripped into grey bubbles and greasy water.

"No need to wash this," I heard my mum, back again, setting down something else at my elbow, and she muttered something else that I couldn't hear through my headphones. I looked after her after she had gone. How could someone so plainly not see? They sympathise and search for the source of my slipping sanity, but they fail to look properly. But then, I forget how much you can't see. How much I hide.

Later, or earlier, I found myself drifting towards the back door, slipping off my slippers and socks, and opening the doors and closing them behind me and then just standing there. Feet, on cold, wet steps, moving onto pebbles, pressing onto grass. It began snowing. I tilted my face up to the sky. My heart sighed. My logic wondered what I was doing, but gave in to the feeling that this was just... right.

Moments, or minutes, later, returning inside, forget if I've locked the door, going back, ending up outside again, returning for the last time indoors and facing a worrying parent searching for a child due for dinner. I half smiled while I shivered. You search but you do not see. I keep leaving clues, hoping you will - in my words, in my actions, in my words.

And then I keep lying down in random places. Last night exhaustion, or numbness, I have not yet decided, consumed my mind, paralyzing, and I curled up on the bathroom floor, my head on the bathmat, the door locked. I did so until I reached a point where someone - Skylar, I think - nodded and said, "Okay. You're okay to get up now."

I am losing control and it is terrifying.

But 8 days now. Only 8. And then I will have answers. Is she real? Am I real?

Is- anything- real-?