♏Some traumas make your life shitty, some give you reasons to give up, but all of them leave you depressed, and with an overbearing sense of betrayal. It’s hard snapping out of it, especially when all you got is four walls and a prison for a mind. Then suddenly nothing is worth it no more, you wonder how the leaves make it to branches and how much patience the butterflies have, you can’t sleep no more because the moment you close your eyes, you remember everything, every haunting piece of the very thing you try so hard to get out of, then bags start forming under your eyes and they are amazed at how hard you work your life away, but if only they knew..
..its hard work trying to stay sane, holding on to the hope of a new dawn, but then when dawn comes, the ghosts don’t leave, instead every little unexpected sound got you so unsure of everything, so scared of being alive and even more scared of death. You start thinking of eternal darkness and it’s not worth it because more darkness means more memories, memories that are not really memories but instead, memories that trap you in the very moment it all began. So you fall in love with blades, sharp objects, anything that can cause you pain, anything that can get blood out, but then you have to be careful enough not to die in the process, because the dark is scarier..
..its supposed to be easy, just cutting an artery for the pain, but with the first aid kits very close to you because you can’t know who’s going to come in. It’s easier to explain a cut as an accident than an escape from the torture you go through on a daily, than the emotional pain you have to deal with. One hour sleep becomes a norm because you can’t be too sure of what will happen if you sleep for more hours, but even the hour itself is not sufficient because you have to wake up more often than you should. In the end, sleeping was just as good as staying awake. You consider going to a therapist, but you can’t, coz it’s supposed to be a secret..
..so instead of going to a therapist, you become your own therapist, giving yourself advice, getting acquitted with thousands of books, hoping to live in the words, after all the words never die. But even as your therapist you can’t, it’s impossible, so you listen to others, try to help them because that way you heal even if it’s one step at a time, but the healing process is extremely slow because the brain is always in action. Everything around you triggers your pain, your worst nightmare, but you have to live, if not for you but for the people who you give hope. So you create multiple personalities, several alter egos, besides it can’t be that hard, right?..
..in a prison, trapped in your mind, with a great hatred for therapists because they make you feel like you’re actually insane, even though you feel like you’re spinning. One nightmare after the other, binds you to different walls, so you build, and build and build because after all everyone’s wearing some sort of mask, only that yours is different yet similar, too dependent on your alter egos you forget what it’s like to live, but what matters is you’re alive. And like bout of a cough they make you relive it, over and over, and then something that makes you question everything you believed in happens, you start questioning life, but then again, the dark is scarier..
..you should hold on, they say, but holding on is more fucked up, so one hour is enough yet not enough, your sleep is more expensive, more than the smiles you offer. The addiction to self harm makes you forget who you are, so carefree it is, as long as the dark is not the sentence, and nobody gets too close enough to notice the cracks, because however broken or depressed you get, you can’t lose your composure, you have to forget about their betrayal, even if they plan on forcing a therapist on you. Eventually you realize you whole existence was a mistake, but life will always suck, and you drown in your books, because as always, human beings are part of nature. ♏
About the Author
