Waves, they all come in waves.
I think about it over and over again, wondering what people would think about me, wondering if I'd be judged for my thoughts, actions and words. Well, of course, people do. Everybody judge.
I've had a fair amount of ups and downs this year. Certainly better than last year but I still can't run away from what's been haunting me for as long as I've been aware of it. My depression.
I embrace good days and I take care of my dark days. I would normally spend some time alone until the storm passes. I started to privatised my account because the idea of letting myself be seen by public eyes put a certain amount of pressure. I often feel I needed to be a different version of myself, a likeable type but I have no shame of what I have, so why should I hide it from you, right?
Except, you would think this is a cry for attention.
It's not. I can't simply talk about it because when you speak of it, it always sounds ridiculous and stupid.
Yesterday, I took out a cutter from my pencil case. I followed the lines on my palm with the blade. I clenched the blade slowly and started to fantasise about killing myself. I visualised pulling the blade out and slitting my wrist, watching the blood flow out of my body contemplating whether I should change my mind or let it be. And while I thought about this, I was already crying because I couldn't fathom why I've been fantasising my own death lately.
This afternoon, I googled "How long would it take to die if you slit your wrist?"
10 minutes. That's long enough for one to change her mind about dying. It's long enough for you to scream out for help.
It's so stupid of me to think that I've gotten better, and then suddenly I fell into another hole again. This time, the hole is a well filled with water, and I'm drowning. Yet, who's coming to pull me out of this well, huh?
When I told people about my dreams, they always called me weird. Sure, I get weird dreams that very often symbolised the thoughts I've been trying to suppress in my waking life. Thoughts about how pissed, upset or angry I am towards certain people yet I could never express them openly because that would be wrong. Why does it always feel like I'm not entitled to my own feelings? Why do I still go on living pretending as if it never bothered me?
Seriously, how do people do it? Hurt someone's feeling and still be able to live through life without a pinch of guilt in their bone? And why are we so quick to assume the worst of people, when they've been so nice just because you've heard one rumour?
If I ever wanted to kill myself,
it's only because I wanted the pain to stop hurting me.