If this poem is about mental illness (as I read it), it’s only the tip of the iceberg as to dark and ugly.

When it’s your family or friend struggling, you carry a never-ending knot of despair in the pit of your stomach. . .knowing it will never get better and the only thing more scary than today is the end.

The darkest and scariest part is that it can’t be fixed, hidden, ignored. The 3 am phone call always comes. . .

For Anna Rozwadowska I pray this is fiction, not your reality.