Exhausting!

        There was something addicting about the cold, lonely abyss of depression. The isolation was alluring. The pain was enticing. The crippling numbness of overridden emotions was like a river that never runs dry. It was the perfect drug. You’re both embarrassed about it, yet actively allowing yourself to sink deeper. 

       So accustomed to being victimised, you don’t realise that you’re doing it all on your own. Another diagnosis? Another deeply buried trauma resurfaced? Or maybe it’s another panic attack. Struggling to breathe, can’t sleep, your mind, convincing you that you’re nothing. Convincing you that you are a failure. That you’re a burden.

       That organ that was supposed to produce creativity. That organ responsible for immaculate imagination was nothing but an abuser disguised as a logical thinker. How can you see what others’ brain does to them, but you can’t see the destruction yours caused? Or was it that you’re purposely ignoring?

       Is it that you became so comfortable being the victim that you refuse to call yourself out? Or is it because you believe what that organ believes to be true? Why are you stuck in this cycle? Why can’t you just get out of it? Must you be a burden to everyone? Always ranting about the same issue, exhausting everyone around you? Why is it so hard to just figure it out?

       These questions, these assumptions, were why it’s easier to allow the bottomless pit of depression to consume you. In the pit, there were no questions that made it better or worse. There was no battle that you could win or, more importantly, lose. It’s taking the cowardly way out, but maybe that’s the only path for her.

       Maybe that’s all she was. A coward.

       It’s so fascinating how easily you can regress from being an ambitious overachiever, willing to sacrifice any and everything to get to where you want, to a coward, fear dictating your every breath. Fear guides your steps. Fear overruling your soul. But in the abyss of depression, in the anxiety-induced slumber, the fear was gone. The circumstances don’t exist. The choices don’t determine catastrophic failure or glittering success. In the darkness, there is nothingness. 

       It was a lonely walk, but at least there was no one to ignore your cries for help. Not a soul to frustrate because you can’t pull yourself together. No guilt to engulf your heart, making you vulnerable. Just a void where your draining and burdensome traits could exist. 

       At least when she was isolated, she wasn’t hurting anyone. She was not a disappointment. She was not an embarrassment. They wouldn’t have to be on edge, guarding their opinions. Tip-toeing around the unstable girl, looking for any excuse to grant herself the sweet gift of death. After all, you couldn’t be the problem if you simply removed yourself from the equation.

       Maybe death was glamorised. Maybe it was romanticised. Whatever it was, she wanted it. She craved it. And sadly, it was what everyone expected of me now. How exhausting…