Its been years now that my life has become such an emotional roller coaster and seems like it has become an endless cycle & I have no control over it.
I have been dealing with acute depression for 5 painful years, and have had a self-mutilation addiction. Just when things get a little better, shit comes up and drags me back to the darkness of my mind and takes me back into an endless cycle.
I can pretend to be fine for an hour, a day or a week but really can't escape from the ugly truth and eventually, I crash against the harsh wall of reality.
I can’t eat. Every time I even look at food I’m hit with an intense wave of nausea.
I can’t sleep. I am totally dependent on sleeping pills, anti-depressants and much more.
I am terrorized by night terrors and wake up with aches, pains, and a broken body.
I can’t go to work because I can’t deal with my customers. I can’t deal with my colleagues.
I don’t know what exactly I do and I don’t know where I am heading.
Some days I can hardly move because my joints are so seized.
My back, shoulders, hips, ankles, wrists, neck, knees and thighs have been a constant barrage of pain.
I can hardly even come up with the words to speak simply to people.
Life has gone so worst that now I can’t really open up to normal people, not only because they wouldn’t understand, but also because they would likely judge me and what I am going through.
With other people, who are familiar with and have experienced depression, suicidal thoughts, self-harm, and extreme desperation, it feels like I already know a part of them even if I have never met them before.
Yes, I do take full responsibility for this ugly turn of life. I do have every reason to walk away but I always find that tiny reason to stay and I cling on to it.
I know that I am hurting myself daily by clinging to that bit of hope.
Maybe I’m absolutely terrified of accepting the cruel reality before my eyes.
No one knows my sorrows. I wouldn’t bother to tell anyone about it.
Why waste their time. Why give them something to worry about.
Why put a pause on someone's happiness. Why make more fun of mine.
None of this probably makes sense.
I am at my breaking point that I feel even my brain has suffered.
What am I to do, when after five years of hell, I have finally lost my will to live?
Worst of all, my mutilation has reached its peak.
I have no more unscarred skin left to burn, scratch, or cut.
So instead of opening new wounds, I thought I’d write. I’d write away my pain.
A Paragraph. A Short Story. A Novel.
I don’t care what, I will just write until I can’t write anymore.
