What it Means to Feel Better (NaoReko, YTTD)

One or One Hundred Thoughts

Why did I do this to myself?

The thought ran over and over again in my head.

Because I had to.

The tormenting thoughts always rush in too violently to stop. I couldn't be in situations that caused it. People are so unpredictable; what makes them laugh? What makes them stay? What makes them not hate me?

My panicked thoughts cycled desperately through all the questions  new people raise.

And, What if I get it wrong...?

I can't handle that.

That feeling pierces deeper than anything I've ever felt.

But at the same time, youth isn't forever.  I pulled myself away from the world; how could I possibly return? I'd just be a husk. I can't say anything wrong so I always just say nothing at all.

After a deep breath, all I could speak was a single word.

"Okay."

Slowly, I pulled my feet from the floor and onto the chair I sat in. Resting my head atop my knees and squeezing my arms around them, I cradled myself and continued to think.

Its all too hard. Too unfair. I don't have a reason I want to live, but I still have to for others? Out of fear? All of it feels like bullshit.

Im hurting. I'm tired. Please, just let me put myself to rest.

Tears welled up in my eyes, but I wiped them away before they could spill.

It's weird. In films, I always thought boredom as a motive was unrealistic and a simplistic cop out. But—after enclosing myself in my house for three years and desperately consuming everything and everything to distract me; I feel like I finally understand it. Boredom is the perfect hell for my thoughts to burn into bigger fires. I just feel... so much worse. I don't have to worry about doing anything wrong by myself but I also have nothing to look forward to anymore. Nothing to cling to anymore— no around parents, no moments, only memories.

Memories.

I miss the days with Professor.

It's like I'm stuck between wanting to relive and wanting to die. Obsessed with moving backwards and pausing life, all while being forced forward.

I lifted my head from my knees and looked at my bleak studio apartment ceiling.

Why am I still moving foward?

"Because they'd be sad. Your parents, your friends."

But... is that a reason for *me* to stay? If it's not for myself ... it natural that it wouldn't last, right? Because despite being numb, I know I feel terrible—just as how someone who lost their hearing knows screaming makes a sound. The times I do feel, I'm miserable. Besides, even the moments I'm happy—hell, even if I was happy, is it worth it? Living? Aging?

It's not like I'd be here to see their tears.

My head sunk to face straight ahead and I immediately loosened my grip on my knees, causing one of my legs to limply fumble off the comfortable edge of my chair. I could tell regret and shame followed such a cruel thought. I almost shocked myself; not by means the thought itself, but the fact I allowed myself to put it into words.

I need to find something.

I forced in positive words like intrusive thoughts to atone.

If I'm going to make them cry, I better try my best to find something first. If I can't use their sadness as my reason, I can use the tears I'd spare them as a reason to find a reason.

Even though still somewhat morbid, these words are what passed as positivity to me. And as my numbness slightly melted, U felt a bit of warmth.

A bit of hope; An inch of motivation.

I slowly stood up and balanced weakly on my legs that had long since fallen asleep. Pins and needles still ringing across them, I walked over to my desk and grabbed both pen and paper.

In red ink, I wrote one word without even sitting down; one that would be my first step when and if I was ready to make it.

Boredom amplifies my thoughts. I have no one or thing to distract me anymore. I desperately consumed anything that did as relief.

Loneliness is my problem. People are what I ran from. What I couldn't stand. Even if it's blind and stupid, maybe If I Can throw one terrifying stone I could kill two birds.

With a small, sad smile, I circled the word I wrote.

"Job"
Looking at it from above, I suddenly felt a tinge of embarrassment at how quickly my moods can change.

"God," i sat down frustrated with myself and cringing at my optimism, "feelings are so contradictory. I can never just ease myself in Can I..."

I scoffed at myself slightly annoyed, pausing my fixed gaze at the paper before beginning to write one more lame sentence down—one meant to mock myself.

'Unable to relive or die, she runs forward; unsure."