The Therapy

Every day, when I wake up, I have the same thought.

Will this ever end?

How long until it last?

I feel tired when I see the rising sun.

Everything feels so...empty and dull and monochrome.

Are they alive?

Am I alive?

The world just seems like it's stopped, or maybe I did.

I don't know anymore. It's almost too hard to breathe.

I can't feel myself. I feel too numb to differentiate between my mind and others.

Am I too quite or is the world is too loud?

I look in the mirror every morning and smile.

An almost too real smile that's hard for people to tell apart from the fake one. It's something I do to make myself feel a little more lively.

"Is this life?"

I ask myself in the mirror.

This doesn't seem as good on me as it looks on others.

Seems like I ordered the wrong size.

My eyes don't shine like them.

I breathe, of course, but it doesn't seem like the right thing to do. Something feels so wrong about it like it's not supposed to happen.

I have had this premonition for a long time now.

I ignore it as much as I can, but it was too axiomatic to ignore.

A part of me still want to try. It's fighting. Trying so hard for it's own life or rather mine.

And so I decided to cut some slack for it. Today will be my the last shot, my final attempt to live...Therapy.