Chrisish, London, age 36


And I hurt big style. We’re doing these exercises, rhythm, tone, text, harmony-the bringing together, and I’m engulfed in pain. I can’t bear it. And don’t want to be here. I feel cold and withdrawn. Like they hate me, but I hate myself far more than they could ever muster. I’ve turned freezing, frozen. Today is not as sunny as it has been, but I’m sure it not as cold as I feel. I am infringed upon. I am erecting barriers of barbed wire and steel, bundles of barbed wire, wire rolls of it around me. I am prickly and dying. I don’t even know where this pain arises from. I stumbled over a crack in the footpath and it leapt up and smacked me in the face, thundering into my nose and jaw and blinding me with the shock of pain. I tripped over myself, and you, and fell headlong into the well that you secretly dug when the nights were cold and hard. And in my heart I knew you were digging but my arms were bound and there was nothing I could do to stop you anyway. Coming back to life, warming up, thawing out. In the trembly tears falling state but ok.