Don't you ever wonder what it feels like to want to wake up? To look in the mirror and not cringe at your reflection? To smile without having to force it out?
I think of these things everyday. Maybe I should get help. Maybe I should tell my parents. Maybe, just maybe.
In the end, I never do. Because what good would it do? This sadness and pain is killing me. But the looks of sadness and pain on my parents' faces would crush me instantly.
In the morning, when I wake up, I think about how a normal person feels like. And then I think about how not to disappoint my parents further. And then I tell myself to drag my lifeless body to the bathroom to make this corpse look like an actual person.
I then have breakfast while looking at depressed blogs on Tumblr because I have no social life as you can tell.
And the rest of my day is spent on my laptop or phone or reading a book -may be new, may be old - and fitting in time for food every now and then. My eating habits are not good, I know, but I don't have an apetite anymore.
In the evening, I get out of my house to take a breather and to find some photo-worthy subjects. I normally just walk to the lake or playground with my camera taking shots of things people normally ignore. A keychain which has broken laying on the road, some fungus growing on a tree stump, the silhouette of some trees and so on.
By the time I come back, I feel energized and lethargic at the same time. Weird. But then again my mind is weird. I take a shower. And prepare myself to face my parents.
See, the thing is, there's nothing wrong with my parents. It's me that has a few screws missing. Remember my bipolar issue? Yeah, it worsens when I'm with my parents. Mostly my mom though. She will tell me about her day, and without any warning whatsoever, I start getting really irritated with her - the way she talks, the way she uses her fork, her voice, anything and everything she does. I'll snap at her. And she'll lecture me. And then I'll cry and be all emotional. And I'll go to my bathroom and lock myself in there.
And after a few minutes, I'll come out of there as if nothing happened, as if I hadn't cried and punched the wall until my knuckles bled. Totally fine.
I go to bed with story ideas. I toss and turn in bed until I'm completely exhausted and sweaty. I get out of bed. It's normally 12 a.m. by this time. I get my phone or notebook and write. Write and write and write. It's the only way I know how to express myself. I write about anything and everything. From the way the air feels when it rains, to the way I feel when I have the urge to cut.
Write and write. Keep going. Keep thinking. It wards the demons away. Keep writing. I write until my hands have no strength and shake even if I pick up a pencil. I go to the bathroom and cry. I don't even know why I feel sad, I just do. And so, I cry.
With the crying done, I am completely bushed. So I flop onto my bed and enter my sweet haven at the same time my personal hell A.K.A. my sleep. Sometimes, my brain is lenient and lets me have my rest. Other times, I'm awoken multiple times by my nightmares.
Author's note: Hello to the cool person reading this. I don't really know why I felt like writing this but yeah here it is. Let me know if this was enjoyable or entertaining in any way. Thank you for reading and have a good day.
