What is wrong with me, by me

What is wrong with me

By Me

It is quite difficult to begin to say what, plural or singular, is wrong with me. I have a real hard time trying to find a start to “when things got so messed up”.

I haven’t showered in a week. That’s a starting point.

I literally feel no interest or desire of taking care of my own personal hygiene. I haven’t brushed my teeth in two days or my hair in four. I haven’t changed my underwear and barely put on clean clothes. My own smell makes me nauseous but despite I’m three meters away from a shower I feel no interest at all in doing it.

Make no mistake; I think about doing it all the time, but despite my stink is so strong it gives me trouble sleeping, I don’t do anything about it, no matter how easy it is to fix it. And that is a perfect example of how I live my life nowadays.

Have you ever dreamt you are in a fight and can’t give a proper punch? Or that you are running and you are moving in slow motion? That is my life. I feel all of my strength has been drained away from me, that no matter how simple a task is I am incapable of fulfilling it.

It is no surprise of course that I am fat as I’ve never been, that I can’t walk up a flight of stairs without catching my breath. That is because all I seem to be able do are the basic functions that keep my body working. I eat and I sleep and I breathe.

Nothing in this vast, enormous, beautiful world catches a glimpse of my interest for more than a couple of minutes.

Oh, I feel the urge to cry now. I won’t, I will try not to, I don’t want to humiliate myself with my own tears in front of something that is not new to me. I am just writing things that I tell myself every day.

As I was saying, nothing is important. I don’t have a single objective or desire. I want nothing from this world. I don’t –I try to hold back the weeping- remember what it is like to crave for something.

I do not ever yarn for death. I don’t know what passion is anymore of if I ever did.

I have come to realize that the only two things standing between me and suicide are pain and laziness.

I wake up after noon every day, eat much more than I hunger for and sit in front of the computer. Then I just play the same videogame that I play every day that I suck at, by the way, browse 9gag, Facebook or pretend to draw a doodle or two.

There was a time that I enjoyed coloring and doodling, nowadays I just move a rough pencil on some paper. All of my drawings look unfinished, just like me.

Fucking damn it; do not cry in the face of what you know.

I tell my parents, who I live with, that I am searching for a job, but it is a lie. I don’t feel I could work as anything, I don’t feel I could get up to go to work.

So I sit there, laughing at a joke or two a day, playing the same game I suck at, staring at a screen I don’t even like anymore.

Oh, don’t get me wrong, I am much loved. I am only 21; people my age still find love even when they don’t deserve it. I have a mom, a dad, a little sister, a boyfriend, a cat, and a dog. I go to college, have my own car, no real responsibilities that tie me down. I am living the dream.

But every time any of my family members talk to me I answer bitterly out of nowhere. I feel sick of them as soon as they enter the room. They are amazing and most certainly don’t deserve it. But I hate me and therefore, since they are a part of me, I hate them. I love them and hate them as much as I hate and love myself. I want to save them as much as I want to save me, but I don’t move a finger.

And I pretty much don’t talk anymore with that sweet, smart, educated, handsome and funny guy who I am in a long distance relationship with. He is THE guy, you know? I know it. Every time I tell myself I don’t want to be with him anymore I remember what I’ve always been looking for and I run into him.

He isn’t in love with me anymore, even though he does love me. He is just standing in front of me seeing me drown and not even gasp for air and he doesn’t know what to do. He is frustrated, so he is angry with me, so he grows cold as I grow mad.

He wanted me to be The One. And even though he is my One, I’m not his anymore and I understand why. Because who would still be in love with a rotting person? I fall apart a bit more every minute and when he’s near me I crumble in his presence, just in case he can save me, in case he can do the job for me, even if I know he can’t. And then I hate him for not saving me.

He wanted me to be the mom of his kids and now all he’s got is a sand girl.

And that is pretty much because of something I always do. I try to look tough, strong, someone who could eat you alive. No one knows I keep a little calendar in my night table where I keep record of the times I think of killing myself.

Actually, that’s how we pretty much started dating. On a day that I had been seriously thinking of killing myself. A close one. Knife-in-hand close. He doesn’t know.

Yep. The suicidal thoughts that seem to be there more and more often.  Three, maybe four times a month. They are becoming as regular as the times I cry while I’m alone, before I sleep or in the shower. I seem not to be able to be sad without that haunting thought that keeps saying “why do you even try, kill yourself, it is all pointless”.

No, pointless is not the word. I feel about life like most people feel about Mondays. “Agh, god, here we go again, I hate it”. Except there are no weekends for me. I know that there are reasons to live, but I really would prefer to stay in bed just five more minutes… forever.

I smile, joke and laugh a lot. It appears like the worse I feel the better is my relationship with my family. Maybe it’s because I have wheels and they pull the leash, so it looks that I am keeping up with them, but in reality it’s just inertia. When I struggle with me, I so do it with them.

I am fed up with a life I just began. I know how amazing everything is, but I really don’t feel like staying in the amusement park anymore.

Of course I have no friends. Poor guys. They have tried and tried and tried to break through the “busy today, I will see if I can make it next time” wall that surrounds me. The people who consider me their friend are amazing, they are fun a genuine, and I love them. But I really am too lazy to interact with more humans than I must. I cry a lot thinking about how I really want to be with them but I can’t find my way around to go and just be there and just be happy.

For fuck sakes, it is so easy it feels like a joke. But it’s like running in a dream. I. Just. Can’t.

Maybe this is a suicide note, I don’t know.

I wrote this thinking about reading it out loud to the psychologist (or psychiatrist) that was supposed to call me a week ago and didn’t.

I would like to say I’m scared of me, that I fear the possibility of harming myself, but I don’t. I am just lazy to resolve it as much as I am lazy to shower. If I could only die of giving up, falling on the floor and starving to death but without the hunger, just dry off slowly until I fade.

Maybe that’s exactly what I’m doing.

In the meanwhile, I’m gonna keep on googling painless suicide methods.