|| after the war, the ugly aftermath ||
The thing about having lived with mental illnesses in the past even after a complete recovery is that the ghosts stay for a long time.
Depression's ghost shows up and laughs with her full teeth and crimson lips at your face when you're alone in your room at two am after a particularly bad week bawling your eyes out- whole body raking cries flowing silently because your parents are in the next room and you don't want them to wake up and worry (or belittle your sadness, because you do that enough yourself.) She mocks you for all the times you bragged about overcoming her when you're completely losing it without a reason and breaking down about things as small as everyday chores, it's anxiety knocking you over on the middle of a crowd even though you were completely convinced you were confident just five minutes ago, it's in the little things that go unnoticed.
But the thing is that everyone deals with this stuff once in a while. Being a survivor just means that the ghosts come laughing to ask, "And you call yourself a survivor?" and tugging at your soul to relapse instead of dealing with them like everyone else and getting over with it.
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