It occurs to me that there are often two sets of trickery going on in my life. The illness—the entity—is always just off to the side, just barely out of my sight. But I know it’s there. And it tries to trick me into believing this isn’t the real Will, this isn’t the real Steve, that reality isn’t reality, that I can kill thousands of people with my thoughts, or that I’m profoundly evil and unworthy.
