𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐈 everyone knows who she is. Worldwide model, covered in many vogue magazines, walked catwalks, and runaway. But people don't know what happens behind the curtains. Despite the many scandals that have plagued her reputation...
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The phone buzzed again, the screen lighting up with another message from the unknown number. I didn't even flinch anymore, didn't feel that pit of anxiety twisting in my stomach like it used to. The threats, the taunts—they'd become background noise, a static hum that I barely noticed. I stared at the message for a moment, the words blurring together, then let the phone drop back onto the bed.
The numbness was all-consuming now. It was like a thick fog had settled over my mind, dulling everything, making it hard to care about anything at all. I used to wonder who was behind the messages, used to stay up at night imagining all the horrible things they could do. But now, I couldn't even muster the energy to be curious. It didn't matter. Nothing did.
I remembered the first time I got a message, the way my heart had raced, my hands trembling as I read the words on the screen. I'd been terrified, consumed by the thought that someone out there had proof of the worst night of my life. But now? Now it was just another part of the day, another thing to ignore as I floated through life in this haze of indifference.
The depression had been the worst at first, when it was still sharp, when I could still feel the weight of it pressing down on me. It was like being trapped underwater, every movement slow and heavy, every breath a struggle. There were days when I couldn't get out of bed, when the thought of facing the world was too much to bear. Everything felt hopeless, like I was drowning in a sea of darkness with no way out.
I'd tried to fight it, at first. I tried to hold onto the things that used to make me happy, tried to remind myself of all the reasons I had to keep going. But it was like the darkness was alive, like it was feeding on my fear, growing stronger with every passing day. I couldn't stop it, couldn't escape it. It consumed everything, leaving nothing behind but a hollow shell.
And then, slowly, the sharpness faded. The darkness didn't go away, but it changed, became something different. It was still there, still heavy and suffocating, but it didn't hurt as much anymore. Instead, it just left me empty, numb. I didn't cry anymore, didn't feel that deep, aching sadness. I didn't feel much of anything at all.
The messages were just another part of that numbness. I read them out of habit more than anything else, the words washing over me without leaving a mark. They didn't scare me anymore, didn't make me feel like I was spiraling out of control. If anything, they gave me a strange sense of satisfaction, a reminder that no matter what this person said or did, I was still the one in control. They couldn't hurt me if I didn't care.
The phone buzzed again, and I glanced at it, almost amused by the persistence. Another threat, another taunt. The words were venomous, filled with anger and hatred, but they might as well have been empty for all the effect they had on me. I didn't respond. I never did. It wasn't worth the effort.
The numbness protected me from the fear, from the anxiety that used to eat away at me. It was like a shield, keeping everything at a distance, making it all seem so far away. I knew I should be worried, should be scared, but I just couldn't bring myself to care. Not anymore.
I didn't know how long this would last, didn't know if the numbness would eventually give way to something else. Maybe one day I'd feel again, maybe the darkness would lift, and I'd be able to breathe without that weight on my chest. Or maybe this was it. Maybe I'd stay like this forever, floating through life in this fog, disconnected from everything and everyone.
There was a time when that thought would have terrified me, when the idea of never feeling anything again would have been too much to bear. But now, it was almost comforting. The numbness was safe, in its own way. It kept the pain at bay, kept me from drowning in the emotions that had once threatened to consume me.
The phone buzzed again, and I ignored it this time, rolling over onto my side and staring at the wall. The messages would keep coming, the threats and taunts piling up, but they were just words on a screen. They couldn't touch me, couldn't hurt me. Not anymore.
The numbness was all I had left, and I clung to it, letting it wrap around me like a cocoon. It was the only thing holding me together, the only thing keeping me from falling apart completely. And as long as I stayed numb, I could keep going, keep moving forward, even if I didn't really know where I was going anymore.
I closed my eyes, letting the darkness wash over me. It was easier this way, easier to let go, to stop fighting. The messages, the threats, the pain—they didn't matter. None of it did. All that mattered was the numbness, the silence that filled the spaces where the fear used to be.
