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What Drowning Feels Like


Sometimes I lie in my bed staring at the ceiling counting the sheeps in my head; counting the blessings. But I can only count the cats and how the trees dance when the wind blows. I tried to smile and started a conversation about the actress who broke up with her lover, and I laugh, and cringe, talking about nothing at all. I tried to get a job, working for years in this industry I am not really interested to pursue. I don’t know the reason why I’m there, why I need the money, why I need to solve the machines’ problems when I don’t even know how to sort out my mind, myself. So I quit; tried to think about my life, tried to think of happy things so as not to think about suicide. I went to see the ocean. I went to see the mountains. I went to see other cities, and it was exhilarating. But I still feel empty. I don’t know what to do and I’m running out of cash so I got a second job. I stayed for a little while and then I left. Here I am now, typing these words at the living room where the cats are playing. And the neighbors are blasting their music while my sister is brushing her teeth.


I tried to talk to someone, to everyone. But they don’t understand. They only want the cars, and the big house, the money, and sex. They want to get married before the age of 30 to poop tiny little babies, and work their asses off in the jobs they hate, running, circling the system they don’t know that is existing. I tried to date someone and I run off after the movie was finished. I’m not interested with anything or with anyone. I’m not interested with holding hands and sharing it in instagram.


I tried hurting myself by a cutter especially when I know I’m not being perfect. Back in college, I tried to cut my thighs when I failed an exam. I don’t like my major but I don’t want to fail. I stopped eventually. I got bored and I became disinterested about hurting myself. I tried social medias and it worked. For a while. But I got depressed more when I saw people posting their highlights while here I am, trying everyday to survive. I tried spending my time in youtube and netflix, and I watched a lot of videos and movies, and it was all meaningless.

I tried to write a book but I quit after chapter 10. I don’t like the story at all. I tried to plan and write down what I should do with my life but I lose interest after two days and really it’s not worth it, I’m not worth it. I think I have bpd2. And anxiety. But I don’t know. I don’t wanna go to a psychiatrist. I wanna go. Would they really help? Or would they make it worse?

What makes me sad is, I know that I have a brilliant mind and I know I’m wasting it away but I just can’t get out of this fog, this grayness. I tried to love myself but I always end up loathing her.

I don’t talk much nowadays. I created this distance with my friends who only want to see my sunny side, who looked away at my darkness. I rarely talk about mental health with my family because, really, they don’t understand. “It’s just all negative thinking and you can surpass it with faith and positive thinking.” I gave up explaining a long time ago.

I keep changing my mind. In careers. I don’t know what I want anymore. To be honest, I never see myself past the age of 30, maybe that’s why.

I keep thinking of what will happen if I swallow a lot of sleeping pills, or the feel of the knife when I cut my wrists like how Hannah Baker did it in the tv series, or how it would feel like if you hang yourself or pull the gun’s trigger, what would be the fastest and easiest way to die? What would be the less painful?

I’m dying. I know it. Something significant, something burning with light is dying inside me and the books, and the music don’t help me anymore. At first they do, but now, I only feel this gaping maw.

I tend to cry a lot when I was younger because I feel so deeply, the hurts and the joys are so intense. But I don’t feel anything at all right now. Only this deep aching sadness. This deep ache of my existence.

It’s funny really, because I can see how the people around me don’t know that I’m drowning inside. They don’t know I’m walking at this edge of this precipice, and I’m only waiting for the big trigger. I am so tired of all the triggers. I understand now how the people who killed themselves even surrounded by loved ones have done it. It is so easy to put a mask.

And you know the worst part? I’m not afraid anymore. It’s like I know the next stage is to give up and pull the trigger. I can still smile. I can still laugh and talk about things and pretend because I know that when I can’t hold on anymore, I only need to let go.

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