I have always had a fascination with mental health disorders, and have always taken an interest in the way the mind works. I’ve always been in tune with the way my own mind works – now whether that is healthy or not is another matter; but I am very aware of my own mental state at all times. I can feel myself slipping into darkness, which gives me enough time to make a conscious decision to allow myself to keep on falling or to get help.
Anyways… one such mental health disorder I stumbled across the other day was that of Cotard’s Delusion. Horribly terrifying to read the personal accounts of those who’s minds are enslaved to this condition. It got me thinking about how at times I too have felt symbolically dead inside. I by no means try to trivialise what really is a serious condition; I simply mean to take poetic license in my own feelings, and have used experiences I have researched as a driving force, a form of inspiration to crawl out of this pit of writer’s block I find myself cemented in.
One Was Born To Be A Poet 