Random 12:30AM thought.
The thing is my mom doesnt understand that what I’m going through. She has a mind of a 56 year old. She forgets if she’s facing all of this, I’m too, and something she doesn’t realise I’m just 16. Where all of the kids are happy and joyful, I’m dead inside, dying, slowly, everyday. No options , no opinion, no opposition. Just going along the flow, to see where the force leads me to. Being uninterested is a part of me. I never chose being boring, I just don’t have the motivation to do something fun.
My mom sees me, my health, my interest, deteriorating. But I see the same happening to my grandmother. Maybe she doesn’t know whom to save, a new soul or a dying soul.
Talking about saving souls, there are times when you save yourself, but over a period of time, you just don’t want to. You except the scenario, and start living in the world. You don’t expect things to get better, and neither you want to end things. You don’t want to solve them yourself and don’t expect them to get better. You just label it as your ‘life’. A life you hope no one ever lives.
Whilst living your ‘life’ you start helping people and understand them. Even though you know running away is never the solution, you think of suicide. But what’s worst? You don’t have the guts. You, somewhere deep below, still have that ray of light, about things getting better.
Talking about suicide, you see new shows which show how shallow and easy to commit, suicide is. Just buy a few razors and slit your wrist. People don’t understand, it’s not easy. It’s easier to suffer. It’s easier to face. It’s easier to get affected. But it’s not easy to quit.
The fear of suicide contributes to living a boring and monotonous life. It’s better than a 9 to 5 desk job, with better acceptance.
Being boring and monotonous causes you to go away and distance yourself from people, usually the fake ones. Reclusing yourself from literally everyone and going to find out the one who can light up your mood, expecting you to find someone.
And then expectations kill reality, you’re labelled as a person who uses people for your own wellbeing. Ofcourse, contributing to prefer staying alone, away, from everyone.
And yes, family included. They have an idea about something being wrong in your life, but you can’t help in hiding the truth. You could be righteous and tell the truth, or tell them you just overslept and make them feel content. Choosing the prior seems practical.
Hiding away your anxiety, locking yourself away in the room and sitting in a corner for hours, nothing seems to entertain you. Just a lifeless soul with a functioning exterior.
Sitting in your room, someone knocks.
“I’m back”, says depression.