Drafts, Personal

Drafts is a new series I am starting which is basically sharing old personal draft posts (as-is) that I have no intention of finishing and may no longer be relevant but I still feel the need to share. I will be putting them under the tag drafts.

For my first Drafts post, I will be sharing something I wrote a few months ago (not sure the exact date anymore). As I read it today, I felt greatly disturbed and wanted to talk to the past me that wrote it but that might result in a rip in the space-time continuum; more importantly, I don’t have a Tardis!


Recently, I’ve been thinking about suicide again. The last time was almost 10 years ago in high school.

My alarm goes off at 5:30 am and I sigh wondering what I have to live for. I wonder why I am getting up, taking an shower, getting dressed and driving to work. I have a long drive ahead of me (~1.5 hrs) and I fantasize about getting into an accident and not surviving. The next 8 hours at work are spent trying to stay out of my mind as I work. Depending on the day, I have to leave for night classes. I question myself for spending time learning more when death isn’t so far. After class, I tired and I force myself to sleep so I don’t have to argue with myself.

A few years ago, I wondered why i ever thought of suicide; how selfish can I be? Now I realize that sometimes, it is not about people and what they think or feel; it is about my and my struggles with myself.

Putting the label depression on how I feel gives me some control over my situation but I cannot fix it. Prescription drugs will not be a bad way to die and I’ll rather die than talk about my struggles with someone. I do not know when it happened but I realize that I cannot establish a deep connection with anyone.

This is not a cry for help! There are times I give myself a glimmer of hope by letting some things out. This is my way of trying to heal myself slowly; maybe by opening up to nobody, I can help save myself.

I want to be free! Is that too much to ask? In death, I can be free even if for a short while. I will finally shut my voices down and release the burden of bottled up situations. Dying is my way of taking ultimate control over my mind.

The constant struggle between letting myself give up and telling myself to live for one more day. Am I really living? I spend most of my day sitting and staring at a computer screen everyday.

One day, my eyes would not open again and my body will be lifeless. Whether that is of my own doing or natural, I relish and look forward to that day. Until then, I will struggle by living to fight another day.


That’s all folks!

Next Time on Drafts: If I remember correctly I started composing the draft while I was in transit. It contains rules that are essential for a Friends with Benefits (FwB) relationship.

Drafts: On depression and suicide

Aside
Prose

Mad Woman, Bad Woman

Today is the first day in long time since I’ve been out. I don’t know what day it is, judging from the weather I’ll say it’s between August and October. I think it’s still 2013; while it feels like eternity, I know they won’t lock me up for years. As I take in the fresh air, it feels coarse and I fear my lungs ability to perform. Last time I was out, the floors were white and nature was playing a trick on us with a sunny cold winter.

I’ve been living in this sanatorium since March; that I can remember to the failure of my doctors. They have all tried to make me forget or tell me to forget even if they never would. I see it in my mother’s eyes when she comes to see me. I know I have failed everyone but her I failed the most which is why I’ve refused to see anyone but my mother. I wish I could make things right by her.

I want to say what happens but I am afraid of the details. I keep a journal which no one knows of and every time I write about that day, the details always change. Even the dreams I have are different although they always start and end the same. Do not tell about my dream, it’s my private world; in it I do a better job at saving her but she still dies.

When Nadia barged into my room to tell me Dee was on the roof and threatening to jump, I laughed. Why would Nadia talk about it? Dee is like the boy who cries wolf and everyone is scared of the one time the wolf will eat him. Not completely willing, I got up and made my way to the roof.

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