Crawling. Screaming. Bleeding.

There are some things in this world that I just can't explain. For example, there are my frequent depression swings and end-of-my-world case scenarios. Third year has merely begun and yet I am already down on my knees begging release. I'm not even halfway past the challenge. What happened to me over the summer?

Images of dying didn't come to me as strongly as before. I used to surmise that those who succumb to suicide are chickens and idiots. Now, I know that in their state, suicide is the only action that makes sense. That's what sucks about being human: you just have to go on living. You don't ask questions about its existence because there are times when the small joys it gives you erases all doubts.

~*~
Wednesday night: I was sitting on the bed, five paracetamol tablets on my hand. Surprisingly, I wasn't crying. My mind was going on a rampage but I couldn't let it out. I could see myself tightly bound in a straitjacket. I was flailing... screaming... My failures earlier were eating me. I couldn't bear to talk to anyone, not even my friends, especially not to him. My depression has turned into a vicious cycle. I want to stay strong for the sake of sacrifice for a happy ending, but I can't... Despite their comforts are nothing compared to my feeling of worthlessness and guilt. I'm just using them. I'm too selfish to befriend anybody, let alone love them... I can't ask help forever. I have to learn to rely on myself. How am I supposed to know that they are mere hypocrites who hide their malice behind their smiles? It's impossible. I'm all alone...

Why I'm still here and counting my miseries instead of sheep is a magnanimous miracle. I didn't swallow the tablets. It took me forever to think about doing so, and another forever for thinking about my indecision. The door suddenly opened. It was my aunt. Noticing the guilty look on my face immediately, she asked what was I doing sitting on the bed with the lights and the electric fan turned off. I managed to slip the tablets beneath my pillow. I made a lame excuse about catching a nap, all the while chanting Get out of here you f***ing meddler at the back of my head. She didn't look convinced enough but I was thankful when she left.

Sleep is the best remedy for my despair. It's not a good habit at all, letting my pain pass only to have it back the next day threefold, but I need the momentary relief. I didn't get anything done. Why should I when I would not concentrate anyway?

I performed miserably in school the next morning. I know I should get over it. Think of the silver lining, the light at the end of the tunnel if there is such, think of all the absurd lies they construct to mock me. Yeah, I guess I'll just have to believe them to continue fooling myself...