The walking dead

You always think about how you want to get better. But maybe it's just a lie you keep telling yourself to feel better. To keep the darkness away. I thought so, too. That if I got rid of the darkness, I would get rid of the struggle. But it also used to scare me a little. Losing it. Because it´s there, living inside of you for so many years, and the thought of not having it anymore – the darkness – well, it kind of scared me, honestly. It´s inside of me. Part of me. You can´t just rip some of your part out and move on.

    I learned to love the darkness that clouded my head and my soul. I´ve loved it since elementary school. And I was afraid the pills would make it go away. How would I exist? You know, the problem is, I want to get better, but I am afraid of it. I´m afraid it´ll change me into a person I will not like. But I´m also petrified of the darkness taking full control. It´s like being constantly on the edge. Trying to find the balance. And when I say people wouldn´t understand, I don´t mean it as some nowadays attention-seeking bullshit. I mean the thoughts ARE different. And I like them, but sometimes they can also get weird, confusing, twisted, dangerous, abnormal. Sometimes, that scares me too, and sometimes it makes me laugh. But I can´t tell. No, no, I cannot. They might make me get rid of my darkness. But I like it here, only sometimes, it can get too much.

    I'm the disease. It's me.

    Maybe the darkness wins over the people. Conquers them. So, the only way to stop the disease is to stop yourself. I don´t have any motivation. It´s just my stubborn personality that won't let me give up on anything.

    Maybe people decide to end it because there is only one physical death but so many mental ones. Every time you start to feel a little joy, a little bit alive, it ends eventually. It dies. And because it's part of you, you die with it. Over and over and over again. So, why die one hundred times when you can narrow it to one?

    My train of thought was disturbed by the phone ringing.

    Timothy.

    “Hey, Tim.”

    “Hey, I'm just checking if the cinema is still on.”

    “Yeah, of course. I would let you know if something changed.”

    “Okay, love, I pick you up at eight. Bye.”

    “Bye.”

    I took the wine from the kitchen counter and sat on the sofa. My thoughts wouldn't stop now. I had to give them the space they so horribly needed.

    I didn't even want to go to the cinema, but I promised myself, and I like to think of myself as a person who keeps her promises.

    When you are ill, your thinking changes into something so different. When I look at the wine, I can only see the pills that I drink down with the wine. Or the glass that could make a nice deep cut.      

    I want to see the blood.

    I should just make a deep, deep cut. Deep, bloody cut.

    But I have the cinema in two hours. I can't. Just not yet.

    I'm always thinking about getting hurt. Not by my doing. But like in a car accident, being tortured by some mafia men, driving Formula I or just driving an average formula and some driver crashes into me, breaking my arm, cutting myself while doing something…

    Usually, after the car accident, I end up wearing glasses due to some leak of fumes, which makes no sense, but I needed a reason. The doctor can't tell if it's temporary or not.

    I'm still on antidepressants. Well, to be honest, it hasn't been that long. For these types of pills, I mean. I was thinking about stuffing a handful of pills down my throat the other day. Changed my mind, though. No, lack of braveness would be more correct.

    I don't know what is true anymore. If life is too short or too long.

    I thought I would be better. Doing big things. Maybe ending this whole misery might be the bravest thing I would have ever done.

    We are all hiding behind the big, loud laughs, anyway.

    I got used to the world in my mind so much that my conditions for reality were too strict. And that's not good. It's awful, honestly.

    I took a big gulp from my wine and cherished the bitter taste. I never even liked wine, but today I wanted to be a lady. I leaned back and closed my eyes. And it was one terrible idea, for the thoughts started rushing through my mind like they were never supposed to stop. The thoughts are always there, but feelings, it´s harder with them.

    I've been feeling nothing recently. Nothing really truly brings me joy. Not art. Not music. Not movies. Books are becoming harder to pick up and read. The world is faceless once again.

    The feelings. The nice feelings. They vanished. All I feel is shame and disgust. 

    Oh, I am so dead. But nobody can see. Even if their eyes are open.

    I feel like these pushed feelings and emotions are going to cause something someday. And it's not going to be pretty.

    So much pressure. Sometimes, I even wish for a mental breakdown. I don't know if I mean it seriously or if it's only a momentary slip. But wouldn't it be easier? No more drama. No more shame. Or a lot of shame. Hundreds and hundreds of tons of shame.

    Oh, how will I ever get out of this labyrinth of thoughts?

    I desire an escape from this dreadful reality. That is why I spent so much time inside my head. Living the life, I will never have. Imagining the whole new world with a whole new people.

    Funny how can insanity keep you sane.

    Perhaps I should tell Tim. At least a tiny, little part. But at the same time, I don't want him to know. I don't want his view of me to change. Or do I? What is his view now, anyway?

    I need someone by my side. I thought I didn't, but let's face it, everybody needs the presence of someone. Maybe not constantly, but for some period of time. Because then, life gets lonely. It is breaking your heart. It shatters into a million pieces. And it's almost impossible to clean that mess and return everything to its original state. But what if even Tim decides that is too much to handle and leaves?

    He doesn't know because I always laugh it off, treating it like it is only a harmless, black humor. And I don't mind most of the time. Because if he knew, if he understood those awful feelings, it would mean he felt them too, and you don't want to see your family or friends suffering.

    What dress am I going to wear? Am I even going to wear a dress? Maybe some pants would be better. Or I could just stay in. No, come on, think positively. People do it all the time. No more bad thoughts. Just clothes and other shallow considerations.

    It's quite cold outside, so I should wear something warm. Possibly some scarf, too.

    So, I can suffocate myself with it.

    So much for the positive thinking.

    I don't believe those visits and sessions with my psychiatrist are helpful. And neither are those pills. The only thing that is keeping me, still barely, sane are those little escapes into my mind. It really is a whole new world up here. And it's delightful.

    I'm slowly losing it. And one day, there will be a definite defeat. I'm sure about it.

    I am missing out on everything. I'm losing the best years of my life. And the worst thing is me realizing it but being too powerless to make a step. It's such a helpless feeling. I want to get rid of it. I want to get rid of everything. I want to enjoy life. Someone should write a manual on how to actually do it. Pathetic.

    Oh, this activity is not helpful at all. It gives me a stomachache. And stomachache is even worse than soul ache, sometimes.

    You see, when you are depressed, yeah you feel sadness, and pain and sorrow and all that shit, but sometimes, you just become numb. And yeah, that fucking sucks but waking up every fucking day and the moment you open your eyes is the exact moment you feel stressed and nervous... I mean already? And why? What is the reason? Exactly! Not a fucking thing! So yeah, I choose my depression over my anxiety. And how fucked up do you really have to be, when during the process of comparison of depression and anxiety you find depression quite comforting?

    But still, depression is not poetic.

    It's fucking devastating.

    I thought I had learned how to tame the darkness inside of me. I even fell in love with it, but now, I can feel it taking over. All over me. And it makes me so sad. So desperate.

    I am so lonely. I feel so lonely around people. And so unwanted.

    I'm just so sad.

    And so sadly lonely.

    I…just…what if a car ran over me? I don't want this anymore. I am so alone. So, so lonely. And even sadder.

    The tears started running down my cheeks, and I could feel the loud sob trying to escape my throat.

    I am so stupid.

    I just want this to end.

    But I don't have the courage to end this. Someone has to do it for me.

    Only now do I fully understand the term “walking dead.” Funerals are useless and pointless if you were dead a long time ago.

    I could drown in my tears. It would feel like a salt lake. And I would be finally calm, knowing that the darkness would haunt me only one more time, and then there would be nothing. Nothing at all. Just the sweetest death.

    I would lay my head under the tears, lakes, and lakes of tears until the sweet suffocation would come for me. And I would never hurt myself again.

    The thoughts would win. Committing a suicide for me. And I would be forever in their debt.

    I wish I could love myself as much as I love the darkness.

    And I wish I could hate the darkness as much as I hate myself.

    Giving up on everything is the saddest thing a human can experience.

    Never mind, I'm going to take a bath. If I was strong enough, I would just finally drown myself.

    I want to ruin myself. Like totally.

    Forever.

    But I can't today. I made a promise that needs to be kept.