I am broken. I am lost. I am trying to keep myself together. I am trying to hang on for just a little bit longer. I am trying to be a responsible person. I am trying to keep myself busy. I am trying to perform at work. I am trying to keep up with the demands of my studies. I am trying to come to terms with the shattering of my beliefs. I am trying to pick up the pieces of a broken friendship. I am trying to figure out a way to see the good in the world. I am trying my best to keep sane and alive. I am trying to find the courage to get through another night.
But, all I want to do is stop with the “trying”.
I want to quit my job. I want to suspend myself from the University. I want to leave my house. I want to give up on everything. I want to stop pulling up that brave face. I want to give up on all responsibilities.
And, once I have done all that, then I want to lie on the bed for a month or however long it takes, without answering to anyone, without looking forward to anything, gaining my strength back and then fight again for the next decade.
I don’t need a holiday.
I need shutting down.
I am living a double life. I am forced to be a functioning part of this society. I wake up and check-in and when I close the door behind me at night, then I stop being a part of this society.
Then, I change. I become the person who is extremely tired. I become the person who is dejected. I become the person who just wants to shut the fuck down. I become the person who does not give a fuck about what her research is about. I become hopeless. I become a living-dead. I cry and I also laugh at the absurdity of the masks that I wear every day. I cry until I forget what I was crying about. I sometimes also talk to myself. My inner voice which tells me to not end up dead sometimes also tells me that I must go ahead with it. The voices are loud but they belong to me.
I meet people, I engage but deep down, I have nothing. I feel nothing. I am there for the sake of being there. I want to stop with this pretence. I want to stare blankly at people and tell them I do not know what the fuck is going on around me. I am not the whole self you see. I am in a million pieces right now.
I write suicide notes, it helps. When I wake up in the morning, I read them. Sometimes, they are full of anger. Sometimes, they are indifferent. Sometimes, they are accusatory. Sometimes, they point at my own failures. Sometimes, they are philosophical. Sometimes, they are deliberately short. I see them as a testimony of getting through another night. And so on and so forth.
I am going to end this post abruptly and I am not going to edit it as well. This is raw stuff and I do not care whether I make sense because my life does not make any sense. And, I am also not going to accompany this post with any pictures because that is a lot of work and needs a lot of attention and focus and I do not pay attention or focus after I shut the door behind me.
P.S. I see this piece of writing as art (yes! I am fucking delusional too) and not a cry for help. I see this as the workings of a suicidal mind – and just that!