If I Can't Stop Myself

Games

Minecraft. A brand name for a sandbox video game with construction, crafting, exploration, and combat mechanics, available on many game platforms.

Addiction is a powerful mechanism. You don't realise you've been struck until it's too late.

I hate to say it, but I'm a game junkie.

Minecraft is full of possibilities. It's like riding a unicorn, napping on cotton candy clouds, or trapping a fly in your fingers. A fictitious world in which you have no idea who is behind the other account. You may select whatever way of life is better for you. Perhaps it's fighting. Maybe it's building a house in unity, or perhaps it's anarchy. I went with a calm one. In contrast to the bitter reality. It has guidelines, but no fighting, no pain, no suffering. Just fun.

Ding

Wubba: can you get on?

SlushyCupquake: Sorry, not right now.

So I walk over to the window. I can hear people in the background, despite my best efforts to immerse myself in an imaginary universe. No, not the friendly type of conversation. Everyone in my situation wishes it was the wonderful kind of conversation, smooth and tranquil, with a little cafe music in the background. But none of that matters if I'm no longer alive.

With that, I step up to the window and stare down 34 floors. It's late at night, around 1:38 a.m. I'm supposed to be in an online lesson, which is why I'm permitted to be up so late. The roads, like a cafe, are pleasant and serene. No spilt coffee, neither any hot burns, and no loud noises. There are no human emotions. It's just a road. Maybe a few birds are sleeping, maybe a few bugs are dreaming. Too bad I'm going to disrupt that.

The next thing I know, I'm unlocking my window, 34 stories up. I open it wide, as if I'm going to fall through it. I may someday, or it might be today. But I sneak through a bunch of irate grownups and close the door behind me. I enter another room that ascends and hit a button with the number 44 on it. Before I know it, I'm climbing onto a dusty flat roof, where the stars are so close that I could reach out and grasp them. And I glance down once more, but this time it's cold and windy.

The trees are being ruffled by the wind. Some may say it's too chilly, but I believe it's ideal. And it's a pleasant evening. I dangle my feet off the building's edge. I saw turquoise, pure water below and wonder if it will catch my fall.

Still, even after weeks of sitting on this edge, I still feel anxiety of what may happen if people find out, I feel the urge to find answers, and the want to sleep on it one more night. And that one night evolves into days, weeks, and months. I need more answers. So, before I go, I stand up, stroll over the dusty ground, and return to the ladder. And then return into 'my room.'

And I sat on my bed, feeling completely overwhelmed. How can I move on and stop obsessing about what I did wrong? I suffer with OCPD. I tell myself I don't have to be flawless and that everything is great. But my mind insists that I must be at the top. And how can I follow my heart if I don't know what I want to do? When people tell me I'll never make it, and despite the fact that they all have more experience than me, I want to disagree. They tell me they know the ways of life, while saying I don't. And I'm simply so overwhelmed and bewildered that I need help. Can someone help me? Keeping it in isn't working anymore. But I don't deserve support. Nobody is interested in me. You don't count since you are 1 in 8 billion people. So many people are going through terrible things, and what do you come up with? Mental health? Nobody wants to hear your narrative. Simply learn to cope on your own.

So I settle down in front of my computer and begin viewing YouTube videos. And I just keep thinking and wondering, and my mind wanders to a dark place, and-

Help me.

And I hope someone would come into my room, take me up, and carry me away from my suffering. And I wait, and I wait, and I wait, and I wait...

But the miracle never happens.

And I hear someone screaming.

Turns out that person is me.

And my mic is unmuted.

And I feel terror like I've never felt before. I mute. I'm at a loss on what to do. The teacher inquires about what just happened. And I tell them I'm OK. My mind scrambles for an excuse, but I can't think of any. I just ask if I may end the call. It is effective. My brain feels relieved, but only for a short time.

Footsteps.

My door flings open.

'What are you thinking screaming "Help me" at 2 am? Do you want to make the neighbours think I torture you and get taken away?'

She's joking. Trust me. It doesn't sound like that on paper but she is.

'I'm fine, sorry, I just got overwhelmed.'

And she follows up with her line.

'You can tell me anything. I'm your mother.'

But can I? Can I really? After all the things you've put me through, can I really? Can I love you while ignoring the past?

And I saw her gaze slowly moving towards my laptop. Unfortunately, it is set to full brightness. The big, lit red and white logo catches her attention, and she realises I'm not in zoom mode at all. I can see what's coming. And I was correct. I'm unable to tell her anything. She still reverts to her former self. One who lives in a world where she believes she understands everything and believes she knows others better than they know herself. She is sometimes correct, and sometimes she is completely incorrect. But everyone lives in a separate reality, and if you don't want to embrace other's universes, then that is narrow-minded.

'I'm trying a new coping strategy' I say in an attempt to save myself.

But she simply walks out of the room, leaving me huddled up on the cold hardwood floor. I shut and lock the door. No. She will not be permitted to return. I'm not letting her back in. I'm not going to let her hurt me.

But my mother bangs on the door. 'Let me in!' She'll be upset with me later for locking the door, but it's in self-defense. Who wouldn't shut the door if they knew someone was coming to punish them? The door is struggling, but I tell myself, "The door is sturdy enough, you'll be OK." It's becoming increasingly difficult to believe, and it appears like it may shatter. Then...

The door loosens. And falls.

My mother just broke the door the door. The one thing that stood between us is no longer there. My security barrier, my privacy. Everything has suddenly vanished. And she storms in, emotionless, or at least emotionless to me. But instead of backing away, I just stare at the door in despair and begin to cry. And I'm not sure if I'm in emotional or physical pain after that. I just feel sick. I feel like I'm about to puke. I feel like I've been hit by a truck. 

And I told myself that would be the last time.