Depressed as Fuck [Completed]

Chapter 11

It was one of those days where everything felt suffocating. Like the air in my room was too thick, pressing in from all sides, making it hard to breathe.

I could feel the weight of my thoughts dragging me down, spiraling faster with each passing moment. I tried to ignore them, tried to push them away, but they only grew louder, more insistent.

"You're useless."

"You're not enough."

"It's better if you're gone."

The words circled in my mind like vultures, picking at my sense of self until there was nothing left but raw emptiness.

It was as though a part of me was breaking, slowly crumbling away with each passing minute, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

I hugged my knees closer to my chest, curling in on myself like that might shield me from the storm inside my head.

The thoughts kept coming, crashing over me like waves.

"Why do you even exist?"

"Just hang yourself to get it over with."

"You're such a failure!"

"So weak."

The ache in my chest had been growing, spreading through my whole body. I didn't know how much more I could take. The pressure felt endless.

And the silence in the room was deafening, but my mind was so loud I couldn't escape it. The feeling of drowning in my own thoughts was overwhelming.

I reached for my phone, hoping for something! Anything! To break the silence.

But even then, the messages felt distant, disconnected. I didn't want to talk to anyone. Not now. I wasn't sure I could make them understand what was happening in my head. So, I let it buzz and buzz, and just ignored it.

I wanted to scream!

Please! Stop!

I wanted to do something, anything to stop this constant ache! But I was too tired. Too drained.

It was like my body and mind were at war with each other. I didn't have the energy to fight anymore. The thoughts continued their relentless assault.

I stared at the walls, wishing they would swallow me whole. I just wanted peace. A moment of quiet. A breath without the weight of everything pulling me down.

And then, without thinking, my hands moved. It was a strange instinct, a desperate need for relief.

I opened a drawer, the familiar pull of it almost automatic. Inside was a piece of something---something I had tucked away for times like this, when the pressure became unbearable, when the weight of everything felt like it might crush me.

Even if I didn't want to, I couldn't stop myself. I felt as though I was trapped, like there was no other way out of this suffocating feeling.

I ran my fingers over the sharp object, the cool metal against my skin, and for a moment, it felt like a way to ground myself.

To feel something real.

My heart beat faster in my chest as I took a breath, the tension in the air thick, oppressive.

This will help.

This will stop the noise.

Just for a moment.

I tried to steady my hands, tried to ignore the panic rising in my chest, but the thoughts, the weight, the constant pressure---it was too much. I had to do something.

The first sensation was a sharp jolt, the briefest sting. It wasn't much, but it was enough. Enough to make everything feel a little quieter.

The pain, though subtle, created a strange kind of relief.

It was real.

It was something I could focus on.

But it didn't last. The quiet faded just as quickly as it had come, and with it, the weight of everything returned, heavier this time.

I pulled my sleeve down over my wrist, not wanting anyone to see. The relief had been fleeting, and now, I felt only emptier. I stared at the floor, my head heavy with regret, but still unsure of what to do.

I wanted to apologize, to explain, but to whom? I didn't know how to reach out. I didn't know how to tell anyone what was happening inside me. I didn't know how to ask for help.

The phone buzzed again.

"Are you okay? Please talk to me."

I didn't answer.

So stupid of me wasn't it?

I'm sorry but I couldn't. I wasn't ready to face anyone. To admit how far I had fallen. To say out loud the things I was afraid to even think.

The quiet returned, but it was different now. It wasn't peaceful. It was just as suffocating as before.

Why can't I stop? I thought, staring at the ceiling, the weight of it all pressing in.

Why does it feel like I'm always running from something I can't escape?

I didn't have an answer. I just lay there, in the stillness, feeling more lost than ever.

And as the moments stretched on, I wondered if I would ever

find a way out...

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lironove