There are days when I can’t bring myself to face the world. My head and heart feels empty – as if there is nothing left to live for. Getting out of bed, going to college and risking a breakdown is too much to handle. And yet, I don’t want to stay where I am – at home – because I know that staying here will bring back unwanted memories, and I will breakdown anyway.
Breakdowns are not good, I have decided. Painful, agonizing tears – and your head hurts to the point where you’d rather rip it off. Every breath feels short, unfulfilling. I clutch my throat, tears wetting my pillow, trying to get a gasp that will let me live. My brain does not help – filling my eyes with images of all the things I have, all the things I do not deserve and all the things I will eventually lose. Somewhere, at the back of my head, I fear someone will enter the room and see my state. Deeper still, there is the fear that they will see it, and do nothing.
I have to try harder to be happy. They want me to be happy.
I force myself out of the house because that is what is expected of me. I have to be the sweet, caring and happy girl everyone thinks I am.
I try not to think too much on such days, try to block out every single thought. I put on headphones purely to shut out the world. There is no music. Music would make me cry. I make sure I am wearing a hoodie, or at least something large enough to hide me if I breakdown. If it gets out of hand – there is always the blade to help it stop.
Some days turn out surprisingly good – a switch that turns on – and my mood changes.
Some days I fail – I end up screaming and crying the minute I am back home, back to my thoughts.
I wish I could be happy, be normal.
I wish I wasn’t me.
On clearer days, I wonder – why do I go through this? Why am I not happy? Everything seems perfectly great on the outside – I have friends who care about me, I have a family who loves me, I am excelling at my course. Why am I haunted with my past?
I keep reminding myself – it is over now. No one will hurt you now. You are stronger. You are bolder. You will survive.
Except I don’t want to.
I think I am in a dysfunctional relationship with happiness. Sometimes it loves me, I love her. And sometimes we hate each other. Sometimes we break up. Sometimes we marry for a few weeks. I have developed my coping mechanisms for every divorce.
Sometimes, I write.
Other times, I draw, or work on an assignment that I enjoy.
The aim is to distract, to forget that I am not happy. Sometimes, even pretending to be happy actually works. Hey – fake it till you make it!
When nothing seems to work, I cry. Letting it all out can help get things back on track.
Most of all – I remind myself that it will be over soon. I will feel better eventually. After all, tomorrow’s a new day, a new life and a new beginning.