I'm Sinclair Kennally

Wanting to die, every day. Having to work hard not to step in front of traffic. Michael had to yank me back onto the sidewalk before someone hit me, more times than I can count.

Starting every day with a panic attack, before I even got out of bed. It was the only way I could get up. I would obsessively run through the most terrifying thoughts about my life and what was going wrong in our business, to force myself to hyperventilate enough to sit up.

Taping my fingers straight with popsicle sticks before bed, to try to save my joints. If I didn’t, it would take hours to unclench my hands the next day. Driving to work using my wrists to steer.

Aiming to drink enough each night to wake up buzzed to offset the pain.

Michael having to pull me out of my car when I arrived home from work, because I couldn’t get out of the car by myself.

Living on 2-3 foods at a time, because they were the only things I could keep down.

Going years without seeing the back of my own office building or my employees that worked in that area, because I couldn’t walk that far.

Crying at the thought of having to pee, because it meant I had to find the energy to get to the bathroom.

Flying into a rage at my local coffee shop because the line took 5 minutes, and I couldn’t survive the pain of standing on concrete for that long. Thinking it was the baristas and customers ruining my day.

Periods of brain fog and delusion so intense that I would lose all sense of perspective or awareness outside of myself.

Being unable to lift my arms up high enough to brush my teeth, so I didn’t. For 5 years. I would lay down flat on the couch with a paper towel, and slowly nudge my arms up to be able to wipe my teeth with it.

Standing in the grocery store, staring at a refrigerated case of water and watching a woman open the door, grab a bottle and walk away. Bursting into tears because I couldn’t find the will to open that case door. Leaving without the water.