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Hey guys. I fucking hate August, and God has a sick sense of humor. Someone I used to know saw me and asked how I've been. What happened to me, all that. It wasn't her fault, I'm not trying to blame her. Where'd I begin? Just a slight little bit of limping when the blood began to fill my shoe. I was aware of the pain, but it seemed inconsequential. Keep moving. Death lives behind you. There is light ahead, the threshold to safety. They will help. They have to. I would've called the police if I wasn't scared I'd be detained and questioned. That'd be the most terrible thing I could have done. Traitor! Coward! If you'd asked me if I thought myself to be alive, I would have said no. Alive infers some free will in humans or some basis of instinct. I was unworthy of life, to exist as I had known myself. How far did it go before my body acted by it's own accord? That deep sensation of a million years' worth of evolution. That push, a second wind, to keep you upright. Now I'm exhausted. This month will end, and things will go back to normal. As normal as I make it. Handfuls of melatonin until I got headaches, just to sleep. I'd stand in the back yard until I felt safe enough to walk down the street. There was something evil there. I wanted to buy it. Kill myself, my mind, and exist as they did. Agony you weren't aware of. The doctor gave me pain medication. That bottle is still stashed away, in case I ever need something. It was when they'd removed my wisdom teeth, and the only pill I took made me vomit. I hadn't eaten. There was no body connected to my mind, so the hunger was gone. Eating was terrible. No, I'm not hungry, and I don't care. Drinking was different. Maybe because it felt to be more essential. On my birthday, I'd wished for silence. People talking annoyed me. I was at capacity! My own mind seemed to be overfilled with fears and insecurity. Anything more and I'd bite on my inner cheek. Shut up, it says. They all need to shut up. My silence was simply because I felt tired. Connecting with people was emotional. I couldn't take it. I couldn't take anything. The sounds of the lawnmower down the street became like heavy breathing through the closed door. More panic. Irrationalities of everyday life. Horrible, gut-wrenching terror to everything. These were the kinds of things that happened to other people. Not me! The voice called me a lazy coward when I spent a moment unproductive. I didn't work hard enough, or study hard enough. I'd been a failure. You know what? I'm not the smartest person in my grade, or the best soup stocker. I'm not the world's greatest intern. Sometimes all I do is lie down and watch YouTube until my brain is mush. Even when I feel like shit, as today, I still try to do something productive. Yesterday I went on a short walk to Witch's Castle. Technically it's a "hike," but one a toddler could do. That's better than being a sad sack of crap all day. Today I'll do some studying, just a bit, and get some sleep. I have work tomorrow. I'm so tired. But goddamn, I'm alive, and I've made good progress. I didn't let it get me down for long. Honestly, writing these posts give me terrible anxiety too, and there's been many things I've just deleted. Something out of my comfort zone that isn't dangerous or irresponsible is good. Like, writing makes me feel better, but it also freaks me the fuck out. Not 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂, just freaky. (The brainrot is terminal and nobody over 23 understands what I'm talking about.) View Comments