• _sad_ia_quad_ir_ 77w

    I am not haunted by the walls anymore, but the gap between my bed and ceiling that no longer comprises of just molecules, but despair and gloom. Every night I lay myself on bed, I feel weighed down, panting I can not fathom what to do and how not to feel that way, so I cry, and reach out for my phone, finding things to engage myself in, with nothing working out, make my way, to the bathroom floor and sit there wondering, the floor's more cold or me within? I don't know if I am tired of me not trying hard enough or things not working out. I feel irritated at things I cry and things I don't cry at. My own smile seems so deceptive at times, I hate it. I hate how my vocal chord fails, everytime I try to confess, to that one guy, I've been madly in love with. And everytime I want to ask him to stay a little longer. I don't find joy in saying I am fine, when actually I am not, but I never could find ways, to define things, as the way they were, I don't even know if I have sufficient words to describe this sinking feeling within or perhaps I ain't good enough. Either way, it sucks. I stay quiet, though I didn't choose it nor would I be willing to. I tell people I am feeling 'odd' and they oblivious of what it comprises, ask me what exactly, I never had answer to it and I say 'just odd'. For in the truth I don't know myself what does odd refers to and how can something be relieved when you cannot actually indicate what it is. My eyes burn with sleepiness and I keep changing sides to get that warmth I didn't have to find erstwhile. My own home does not gives me the comfort anymore, I want to run out of it to nowhere. I don't like things I do, lying on bed with no human to talk to and nothing to look forward to. I hate how I don't possess the strength to utter a word while my insides are burning with hatred, while the voices in my head is so deafening. I hate the way I am losing weight, I hate how my skin looks so pale, with my eyes sunken deep. I hate how I've lost the appetite of exploring a thing. I hate to see my abandoned skates with dust settled on it from ages. I hate it, all of it, for they remind me of how I looked forward to finding joys in things. And lying on bed in daylight was always my last option. Gripped by these facts I stay infuriated all day, victimizing myself with thoughts of self harm. I often wonder if it is the demon in the dark I fear or what lies within.


    P.s: Please no word of consolation. Just felt like venting out.

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