I was walking through a beautiful forest in the month of May. The small buds of the bushes and trees were in bloom, the green overcoming the dark browns of the winter. I was calm. I was happy. Along my way I wandered into a deeper part of the forest and ivy brushed upon my leg. It was so subtle and discreet that I didn’t feel it initially. But over the weeks and months, the ivy began growing in the spot where it touched. What was a small scratch began to develop into stems and leaves. It began growing faster, leading up my leg. Suddenly it was covering me completely. At first it was alarming, but slowly I became used to the enveloping vines around me. They were uncomfortable. There were thorns digging into my skin. The leaves began to blur my vision. It made me reclusive. I was being consumed by the ivy and it became uncontrollable. It was feasting on my body and mind. Even when I trimmed some of the vines, it kept growing back. It could not be tamed. What could be a beautiful and enchanting piece of the forest became a close enemy. But what was its purpose? Its existence was dependent on me, and deprived me of my energy, my time, my thoughts, my joy, my relationships, my mobility. It affected the darkest depths of my soul and consciousness, sometimes initiating waves of pain incomprehensible and without reason. Over time I began to believe that it indeed was becoming an innate part of me, and that no one would be able to see me. I became nostalgic for the person I once was. I became a functioning corpse made of ivy.

But I kept coming back to the question of the meaning of the ivy, a tangled and ambient weed just existing on and within my body. How do I go back to the month of May, before this evil ever crept into my consciousness? How do I let the person under these impenetrable green chains break free?

I am still understanding how to escape.