It’s a subtle onslaught. There’s no gnashing, nor grinding teeth to rend you to shreds. It happens at a snail’s pace, often feeling so normal, your destruction is indiscernible until you’ve completely disappeared.
Instead, you’re flayed alive by a thousand tiny razors ripping and tearing you apart. Each cut stings as your defenses are peeled back, exposing every insecurity, laying bare furtive anxieties.
The voices in your head are sharper than any blade, more precise than a surgeon’s knife. You can never quiet their taunts. You can only quell them a moment by feeding them little pieces of your heart.