You wake up in the morning. Everything hits you like a brick; all the things you did yesterday. All the mistakes you made, all the regret, and none of the satisfaction. You feel yourself slip just a little bit more, afraid to go to sleep later tonight lest you slip enough to fall.
You find your way into the kitchen. You look around at all of the things you could eat for breakfast. You wander aimlessly, debating and determining all the ways you could kill someone, or even yourself, before smacking yourself back into reality, forcing yourself to refocus. You decide on a package of fruit snacks, and nothing else. You grab your meds from the cabinet and take them, putting them back quickly due to the fear of what you may do if you hold onto them for too long.
You look around the house; you seem to be the first one up. You briefly wonder what it would be like if nobody else woke up that morning, and you let the thought pass, tired of fighting your thoughts. You sit on the chair in the living room and start to eat, until you hear someone else get up. You run to your room and hide under the covers, not wanting any social interaction yet. You aren't prepared to act yet today.
You eat the fruit snacks under the covers, and turn on your phone. You go directly to a chat room, only to discover that, unlike yesterday, so many people decided to talk about stuff without you. You tell yourself to shrug it off, that you're trying to give yourself a pity party, but you can't get out of your head how much happier everyone in the conversation seems when you log off for the night. You fight the urge to rip your hair out die to internal struggles that you cannot name, that you can't even understand yourself, and go to another website where you can talk one-on-one with another actual person. You chat with them for awhile, feeling like they're the closest to support you'll ever get. You pound the newly starting pity party out of your head, tell yourself to grow up, tell yourself that everything is just fine and you don't need help. You can bear this weight alone, no matter how much it hurts.
You decide to get out your sketchbook and draw. The thing you draw is demonic and terrifying, but you find slight comfort in it, finally knowing that you cna understand another. You give it a personality, a name, a mind, a motivation. You make it yours, you make it an extension of you and you want to just hug it. You've found another character for your book.
Sadly, it can only be a villainous creature, due to authorial reasons. It simply wouldn't make sense in any context for it to be good. Similar to yourself, but it's a fleeting thought.
You write another chapter in your book and, by now, it's lunch time. You head downstairs and say good morning to your now-awake family. You put on a nonchalant face despite the anxiety attack you're currently experiencing. These are second-nature to you; almost every person-to-person interaction brings one about. You've become aware of them, but can't really feel the effects anymore. You shake your head for no reason, trying to empty your head of the negativity for the sake of your family. They won't budge, but you have to hide them. You feel a pressure on your very being, and want to collapse. You tell yourself to knock of this petty vertigo, that this is nothing. You make yourself lunch and go straight back to your room. This is when you realize you only got four and a half hours of sleep. You shrug, telling yourself that you can still function. You hop back into the chat rooms, and everyone greets you warmly. They ask you about your day so far, and then you all talk about the newest things going on with all of you; you always say that there's nothing new. Afraid of losing more friends, you want to punch several holes in the wall, and are in awe that such physical aggression is present wihtin you; this is NOT you. You quickly switch gears and look at a one-on-one conversation that nobody responded to, aside from you, for a couple of months. You ache inside and want to talk to them, but the time just isn't right; they couldn't understand to begin with. You drove them away. You ruined your only chance; you made it a pity party about yourself, and you don't deserve a shred of what they did to you. You want to cry, to rip yourself apart inside and out, physical body and soul, if such a thing could exist. Outside, you maintain a neutral demeanor, as you have most of your life.
You shake your head for no reason again, and switch over to Youtube. Your mind is foggy and you beocme slightly light-headed. You try to take a deep breath, but turns out you're having another anxiety attack. You simply don't breathe until your body forces itself to, and while that happens, you watch random funny videos that you find in your Recommended section.
You can't get them out of your head. You wonder why not; you go back to the one-on-one conversation where nobody has responded for a long time and, before anything else, turn off your phone. You plug it in, and curl up into a ball. All that goes through your mind is sorrow and pain, telling yourself that this is just a big pity party, that you cannot change and since you cannot change, you cannot talk to them again. They don't want you; nobody ever did and nobody ever will. Eventually, you fall asleep, and wake up shortly before supper. You walk down the stairs, hiding the pain you experienced earlier, echoing through your head for seemingly an eternity. Your dad asks you how your nap was; you say good. You help to make supper and eat with your family, then go on your laptop. You tell yourself to spend time with your family, then remember that your dad was upset that you didn't do your chores. You tell yourself to give him the evening to himself and do your chores, hoping you didn't miss anything. You play whatever game you can find in your Steam library or online for free.
You wonder if you should tell someone how you feel. You wonder if you should tell someone about the weight you carry.
Then it hits you all at once.
The people around you who want to commit suicide, who want to end it all, who hate others, who depend on you for their weight to be shared, who think you can take it, who think you can do this on your own. You close the door to your room and cry, cry because you know your strength is running out and you can't send a cry for help, a single message for aide because it would nullify your only reason for being. To help other people bear their loads. You hide under the blankets on your bed, and wind up going back on your phone, checking the chat rooms. They're having a blast, tons of fun, no response.
Then the question arises.
How are you?
Without thinking you say that you're great. You can't say how you really feel. Sure, you can joke about it, people laugh at that. Nothing else.
You feel trapped, that you can't carry this load alone but you have no choice. You have a near-major anxiety attack now, and simply cannot sleep. You try to put on music, but all that succeeds in doing is to make you cry more. You hide under the covers, holding back every sob so as to not alert your family, sitting on your hands so as to not alert your friends, not wanting to lose anyone else.
After all, you have no choice.
You need to do this.
If you can't, you're useless. Don't have a pity party for yourself; that's all this is. Get past these pity parties, and all of this will go away. You can finally be relieved.
You start to let go a little bit; let go of the anger and pain, sorrow and anxiety, even the depression.
Until you realize that you would still be nothing without it, and it swings back in at full force.
You stay up late that night watching Youtube. You go to sleep at three in the morning, like normal. You regretfully accept sleep, reluctantly awaiting the cycle to start again.
You find your way into the kitchen. You look around at all of the things you could eat for breakfast. You wander aimlessly, debating and determining all the ways you could kill someone, or even yourself, before smacking yourself back into reality, forcing yourself to refocus. You decide on a package of fruit snacks, and nothing else. You grab your meds from the cabinet and take them, putting them back quickly due to the fear of what you may do if you hold onto them for too long.
You look around the house; you seem to be the first one up. You briefly wonder what it would be like if nobody else woke up that morning, and you let the thought pass, tired of fighting your thoughts. You sit on the chair in the living room and start to eat, until you hear someone else get up. You run to your room and hide under the covers, not wanting any social interaction yet. You aren't prepared to act yet today.
You eat the fruit snacks under the covers, and turn on your phone. You go directly to a chat room, only to discover that, unlike yesterday, so many people decided to talk about stuff without you. You tell yourself to shrug it off, that you're trying to give yourself a pity party, but you can't get out of your head how much happier everyone in the conversation seems when you log off for the night. You fight the urge to rip your hair out die to internal struggles that you cannot name, that you can't even understand yourself, and go to another website where you can talk one-on-one with another actual person. You chat with them for awhile, feeling like they're the closest to support you'll ever get. You pound the newly starting pity party out of your head, tell yourself to grow up, tell yourself that everything is just fine and you don't need help. You can bear this weight alone, no matter how much it hurts.
You decide to get out your sketchbook and draw. The thing you draw is demonic and terrifying, but you find slight comfort in it, finally knowing that you cna understand another. You give it a personality, a name, a mind, a motivation. You make it yours, you make it an extension of you and you want to just hug it. You've found another character for your book.
Sadly, it can only be a villainous creature, due to authorial reasons. It simply wouldn't make sense in any context for it to be good. Similar to yourself, but it's a fleeting thought.
You write another chapter in your book and, by now, it's lunch time. You head downstairs and say good morning to your now-awake family. You put on a nonchalant face despite the anxiety attack you're currently experiencing. These are second-nature to you; almost every person-to-person interaction brings one about. You've become aware of them, but can't really feel the effects anymore. You shake your head for no reason, trying to empty your head of the negativity for the sake of your family. They won't budge, but you have to hide them. You feel a pressure on your very being, and want to collapse. You tell yourself to knock of this petty vertigo, that this is nothing. You make yourself lunch and go straight back to your room. This is when you realize you only got four and a half hours of sleep. You shrug, telling yourself that you can still function. You hop back into the chat rooms, and everyone greets you warmly. They ask you about your day so far, and then you all talk about the newest things going on with all of you; you always say that there's nothing new. Afraid of losing more friends, you want to punch several holes in the wall, and are in awe that such physical aggression is present wihtin you; this is NOT you. You quickly switch gears and look at a one-on-one conversation that nobody responded to, aside from you, for a couple of months. You ache inside and want to talk to them, but the time just isn't right; they couldn't understand to begin with. You drove them away. You ruined your only chance; you made it a pity party about yourself, and you don't deserve a shred of what they did to you. You want to cry, to rip yourself apart inside and out, physical body and soul, if such a thing could exist. Outside, you maintain a neutral demeanor, as you have most of your life.
You shake your head for no reason again, and switch over to Youtube. Your mind is foggy and you beocme slightly light-headed. You try to take a deep breath, but turns out you're having another anxiety attack. You simply don't breathe until your body forces itself to, and while that happens, you watch random funny videos that you find in your Recommended section.
You can't get them out of your head. You wonder why not; you go back to the one-on-one conversation where nobody has responded for a long time and, before anything else, turn off your phone. You plug it in, and curl up into a ball. All that goes through your mind is sorrow and pain, telling yourself that this is just a big pity party, that you cannot change and since you cannot change, you cannot talk to them again. They don't want you; nobody ever did and nobody ever will. Eventually, you fall asleep, and wake up shortly before supper. You walk down the stairs, hiding the pain you experienced earlier, echoing through your head for seemingly an eternity. Your dad asks you how your nap was; you say good. You help to make supper and eat with your family, then go on your laptop. You tell yourself to spend time with your family, then remember that your dad was upset that you didn't do your chores. You tell yourself to give him the evening to himself and do your chores, hoping you didn't miss anything. You play whatever game you can find in your Steam library or online for free.
You wonder if you should tell someone how you feel. You wonder if you should tell someone about the weight you carry.
Then it hits you all at once.
The people around you who want to commit suicide, who want to end it all, who hate others, who depend on you for their weight to be shared, who think you can take it, who think you can do this on your own. You close the door to your room and cry, cry because you know your strength is running out and you can't send a cry for help, a single message for aide because it would nullify your only reason for being. To help other people bear their loads. You hide under the blankets on your bed, and wind up going back on your phone, checking the chat rooms. They're having a blast, tons of fun, no response.
Then the question arises.
How are you?
Without thinking you say that you're great. You can't say how you really feel. Sure, you can joke about it, people laugh at that. Nothing else.
You feel trapped, that you can't carry this load alone but you have no choice. You have a near-major anxiety attack now, and simply cannot sleep. You try to put on music, but all that succeeds in doing is to make you cry more. You hide under the covers, holding back every sob so as to not alert your family, sitting on your hands so as to not alert your friends, not wanting to lose anyone else.
After all, you have no choice.
You need to do this.
If you can't, you're useless. Don't have a pity party for yourself; that's all this is. Get past these pity parties, and all of this will go away. You can finally be relieved.
You start to let go a little bit; let go of the anger and pain, sorrow and anxiety, even the depression.
Until you realize that you would still be nothing without it, and it swings back in at full force.
You stay up late that night watching Youtube. You go to sleep at three in the morning, like normal. You regretfully accept sleep, reluctantly awaiting the cycle to start again.