No Holds Barred

I don’t need a doctor or should I say..a psychiatrist? --to tell me I’m depressed.
I don’t want to lie to myself anymore. I have fallen in this black hole  and sadly up until now I don’t know how to crawl back to light.
How? How do I get back?

When a long time ago I don’t feel good about myself anymore.

When every morning I find it hard to get up on my bed. I just want to stay there. In the warm cocoon of my blanket. Hold my pillows that witnessed all my sorrows and pain I’m dealing each time.

I am so tired. And I want to sleep.

But I can’t sleep.

My insomnia is back.

And I think it’ll stay for good.

So most of the time I stay up all night.

Doing nothing.
Thinking. And I don’t want to think.

But I need to. To get up.
My mind says I need to.

So every time I do. I get up.
And face the world.
And do the routine I have already memorized.
Not by the heart.
You could say that’s what my mind command me to do.

For months I’ve been feeling this way…this weight on my shoulder.
Maybe it’s the reason why slowly..I’m starting to lose the people I care about.
The reason behind every failed relationship—or almost and every broken friendship.

How could you expect them to stay when you are such a mess nobody wants to deal with.
An over thinker.
A negative person.

You know what they say about negative people right? If you know what’s best for you..stay away from them.

But..have you ever wondered whatever happened to them?

When people leave them. Where do they go to?

Maybe in the corner licking their own wounds.
So funny when they were the ones who made it.

And truth is..I feel like giving up sometimes.
I won’t lie to you. Sometimes I want to escape. To the place where nothing hurts anymore.
And sometimes..sometimes I look at my ceiling. Wanting to do something. I think you know what it is.
But I’m small. I can’t reach the ceiling.
I’m just kidding.

Or not.

Sometimes I look at my wrist. Subconsciously..I reached for it. So fascinated by the veins there, blue and pulsing. Sometimes I feel like doing something. I think you have an idea what it is.

But I’m afraid of the sight of blood so most probably I’ll faint when I see it.
You could say I’m just kidding.
Or not.

I don’t care.

But you know what’s stopping me to do so?

No. Not myself. I am beginning to hate myself.

I always told her to forget about it. Stop thinking about it. Stop reminiscing what happened nearly a decade ago. Stop messing with her own brain. That it’s not her fault. She was just but a child then. There’s nothing she could do about it.

But no. She’s a stubborn one.

She kept on repeating the scene again and again.

As if it would change anything.

She knew nothing will change and all she got to do is move forward but no.. she’s still stuck there. In the past.

Each time when I’m about  to lay down my sword and give up the fight..I think about my parents. My mother, oh how  this letter would tear her apart. I feel like I’m failing her. I failed them. My family..they thought I’m a strong one. That I can do everything. But I’m not. I can’t. They don’t have any idea about this. About what I’m feeling. I’m dead inside. I want to reach out but I don’t want to bother them. I want to ask for help. Be it professional or just tell someone about it but I can’t. They’ll ask me what’s wrong and I can’t tell them.

To you who’s reading this, ever felt this way?
Tell me…what did you do or what are you still doing to get through to this?

I hope..I hope like me there’s still a reason why you’re still here.

Would it be too much if I ask you to seek for help..reach out your hand to someone, anyone..don't hide yourself in the corner, slay those demons and save yourself?

Don't be like me in other words.

Easier said than done, yeah?

But we gotta try, right? Unless you want to be called a coward?

Not me. And hopefully not you too.

Because if we give in to temptation then my friend..we lost the battle.

We will be forever considered a wimp and a weakling.

So fight till we make it.

And someday both of us will say: Fuck you Satan I’m still here. All bruised and tattered but still here. Guess who’s the winner?

Me.

We gotta hope so.