My elephant is not a unicorn.

My elephant is not a unicorn.

I have this elephant that has chained itself to me. I did not choose him, or welcome him to my life; I woke up one morning and found him there, crushing my mind and body into a silent scream. He saps all my energy; trumpets in my head every waking minute, so I cannot concentrate or think. He is so heavy that I cannot lift or carry anything else. I have to drag him everywhere behind me, so can hardly move. He keeps me awake at night, yet tires me in the daytime. My mind and body ache constantly from his ceaseless demands. If I force myself to do anything, his revenge is merciless; he imprisons me, motionless, for days, crushed under his unforgiving weight.

Most other people can't see him, so they tell me he is a unicorn. He's just a unicorn, they say - and unicorns don't exist; ignore him, they say, and he'll go away. They say I'm too lazy to get rid of him, that I enjoy his company.  They made me try to run away from him - a little harder, a little further every day. He caught me, dragged me back, and kept me prisoner for many weeks. 

A few people say he's a black dog I brought home one day, but I know my beast - and he certainly is a totally different creature, although he does try to let the black dog in, sometimes - but he's not coming into my house. Even if he did, black dogs can be dealt with - people know they exist.

The only people who can see my elephant are those also attached to one. They can just hear him in my stumbling speech, see him as a sag in my shoulders, the pain and lack of comprehension in my eyes, and the false brightness of my smile. They know the frustration of evading those who cry 'Unicorn!' on top of dealing with the elephant itself.

My elephant is not a unicorn.
My elephant is M.E.