BODIEThe days turn into weeks.

And each week brings its own gloom.

Every day that passes sheds away a layer of hope, and I'm afraid one morning there will be nothing left to hold onto.

I lose strength each day, strength in fighting negative thoughts.

By the third week, I've lost the zeal to be optimistic.

Unlike other days, I don't go to the medical ward this morning.

I spend my morning alone, confined in my room.

The curtains are drawn closed, shutting out any form of light from ...