This is just what I do

I have very little memory,

Of the time I spent imprisoned

In the mirror,

Suspended, frozen, in a world of white.

The best way to describe it,

is imagine being compelled to injure yourself

over and over and over

not because it feels good or makes sense, but because that is just what you do.

Like being a bird that flies into a window on purpose. That's who I was for two weeks. A bird whose hobby is colliding

with windows.