There are no words for it, no nothing. Not this, not that. Not… anything at all, actually. It’s… persistent and it is certainly agonising of mind. It is… quite frankly, the most disgusting thing ever to have to experienced and at full throttle. The words. They’re there, always will be. Stronger now and, perhaps, even better than ever. It’s just.. this automatic thing now. A mental and physical, maybe, thing. An experience which, I guess you could say, follows you throughout the day. Even when you aren’t thinking about entertaining the scribbles. It’s this inbuilt thing which no-one else needs to actually understand,
let alone feel it for themselves. It’s… quite remarkable, what has been done and maybe even achieved amidst the disorder. It isn’t right and it isn’t worth the sufferer’s time. It’s a horror story that needs no space to exist, that’s it, really.