A short story...it's my first so be gentle.

... colors aren't colors and the air feels different when I am in this state. It feels stale. Almost like there is no air at all. Like leftover air. Here and there. Tiny puffs of clouds of oxygen that will soon dissipate. And it doesn't scare me. I don't care. I still prefer this to terror. As awful as this is. I can always sleep for days. Terror incapacitates you and takes away your ability to escape. You become a prisoner in your own body. You can't even trust your own senses. Heat might be cold and everything might be a delusion. I wonder if I will die in a fire one day because I believe it is sand or confetti or something. That would be a pleasant way to die. My last thoughts would be that I was on a beach enjoying myself in the sun or at a party with friends that I made up. I wouldn't mind terribly being totally insane. This half-way thing is a bit horrible. Watching myself be insane and being aware of it is kind of the worst thing that can happen to any human.

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Today I will start referring to my own "mental illness" and "psychiatric diagnoses" as "inner disjointedness." I will not allow the industry to define who I am.

It has been a minute since I wrote last...  I have to face myself.

Another thing that really pisses me off is when 'friends' want to shut out any alternative explanation of certain human phenomena that doesn't seek to medicalize them.

I've actually had people blow up at me and walk away in a complete snit when I try to explain why I reject psychiatry's pejorative 'diagnoses' and the false science it uses to justify them.  They seem to view it as a failure of compassion on my part.