Diary of the dead

Entry 1: Thinking (stop it)

A/n: These are vents
TW: None
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I lay in my bed, running my fingers over the soft sheets. The smooth fabric felt comforting, and the warm blanket provided me with some solace. As I gazed into the darkness, I could hear the clock ticking from downstairs. I felt a small pang in my chest, an urge to scream and be heard. However, as time passed, I became less certain about what exactly this feeling was.

I experienced discomfort in my left arm from lying on it for an extended period. I felt a static sensation and my fingers started twitching. When I shifted to my side, I was overcome by a wave of something unusual. It wasn't a physical feeling, but rather an emotional one that troubled me. I felt the tingling emotion enveloping my head, making it difficult to breathe, like a snake constricting around my neck. It was unpleasant, and although I couldn't identify the source of this feeling, I wished I could. I felt frustrated not being able to pinpoint it and just wanted an answer.

But answers don't come as easily as questions come to me.

There was no telling what the feeling was, no matter how hard I tried to identify it. Was it sadness? Rage from feeling worthless? Disgust, because of the shame I brought upon myself? I was so unsure. I covered my ears, and closed my eyes, trying to drown out anything that would make me scream, trying to drown out anything that would make me cry. But there was nothing that made me want to do those things in the first place. I could barely hear the outside world; I listened to my mom and dad snoring somewhere in their room, and the clock from across the hall was ticking. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. It kept time in order, as all things were in this world. Not a second too soon, but now the hours are far gone. 

But even then I was still unsure of why I was doing such things, things that made little to no sense, I wanted to give up. Nothing has been going wrong, nothing has been making me feel horrible, so why is it I have wished to leave this Earth with no traces?

Why is it I wish death upon myself?

I pleaded with anyone, with everyone, for a plausible reason - any reason at all, just a reason for something, for this, any reason. I just wanted a reason.

"My life... Such a privileged life it is." I muttered solemnly to myself, "I have everything I need. I get everything I want. So why is it I feel as though nothing is enough? A brat. I feel like a spoiled kid who deserves nothing more than what I have said." I convinced myself ever so quietly, hoping that these thoughts would go away just like how I talked about it. After all, what I did feel was true. If I tried to convince myself otherwise I wouldn't believe it. I had everything I ever needed. Anything that I could ask for, perhaps more if I was kind about it. I hated this feeling. I wanted to be gone as fast as I could, that night. The night when I thought and thought about the mundane and uselessness of my life.

But God doesn't permit such merciful actions to just anyone though. 

I lived to see another day. 

The morning hurt my eyes.