To be honest, I have no words, no perfect metaphors, nothing… to describe what this awful feeling is. It isn’t an aggressive form of emptiness. It isn’t the darkness trying to consume me. And it most definitely isn’t the definition of life.
My Psych teacher says a lot of things. One among them was… ‘Everybody is suffering from some kind of depression these days.’ Maybe, that is the situation of the world today. I bet, no one has the fortune of being completely content with their life. I certainly don’t. And apparently, joking about it isn’t going to help me.
Getting back to the point, I definitely realize that something is wrong with me. I just don’t know what it exactly is. And sulking is mostly what I’ve been doing these past couple of months. It was torturous and painful. It’s still painful. But… my mind has been screwing me over for too long. I’m just so tired of constantly being deceived into believing that it’s time to end it. Writing this might help (actually, I’m not entirely sure about that) but I have this hope. Probably, the most pointless hope I’ve ever had.
Maybe, I can fight this.
Don’t know how, and I, sure as hell, don’t know what comes next. But I know that despite all the tricks my mind is trying to play on me, there is still a chance of… recovery. Recovery is a strange word. I’d like to believe I don’t need to recover from anything. Basically, because people refuse to believe that apart from tragedy, nothing can cause you to break. Well, News Flash! Windows break from the smallest of stones. People break from the slightest of twist. And we need to recover.
Perhaps, I can find some comfort in this idea. And hopefully, so can you. I’m not saying we will fight this, or that we have to. I would just like to bask in the prospect that there is hope for us after all.
Maybe, we will fight this.