WARNING: The entry contains sensitive issues such as self-harm, depression, and suicide. If these topics may bring you discomfort and may trigger something in you, please do read with caution. This is a pure work of fiction.
Genre: Slice of Life
The storm is closing in.
People say they know how it feels like. People say they know what I'm suffering. People say they will help me whenever I feel like this. People say they will never leave me.
I say, bullshit!
No one understands this more than me. No one can feel what I'm feeling. This thing. This poor little thing you call stupid, idiot, weak, fag, emo, suicidal is one heck of a wreck! I am a train running at full speed waiting for a narrow ending.
The video camera is ready. The red light suggests it's already recording.
I see this kid with dark circles around his eyes, bloodshot and red. He's always having nightmares. The only thing keeping him sane is a bottle of medicated drugs. It's supposed to calm him down. The effects wear off after an hour and he's back again with the reality he tries to get away from.
That is me. That pathetic kid everyone bullies is me. That kid who is always reliant to medication is me. That kid who is a closet is me. That kid in the video staring back at me-that is me.
But I wasn't like this before. I used to have friends. I used to play outside. I used to climb trees. A lot has changed.
A lot has changed ever since I woke up from a dream. A dream so perfect I would puke myself.
With the notion of what I was becoming, I look directly at the screen projecting someone foreign. This is not me. I became a monster. A monster in front of everyone's eyes. A monster everyone tries to get away from. A monster who does not belong in anything.
I do not belong . . . anywhere.
I swallow hard. "So, um, hi," I say in front of my computer. It seems stupid as I talk to myself. But I am doing this because I want to leave something. "It's been four years since I was depressed." I pause for a long time because I don't know how to do this. I have the urge to stop the recording but have no intention of doing so. I have to keep this going.
"Four years of depression. You might be wondering, how long I am keeping up. You know, the funny thing is my therapist once told me that keeping up is like you have to run up the stairs even when you're already tired.
"I just-I can't keep up anymore."
The storm has begun.
The storm is raging. The storm is so loud I can't hear my own thoughts.
There is a ghost in front of me. He's crying but I don't know why. He's in pain. He's depressed. He wants to end it once and for all.
I take a deep breath as I continue. "But I am not here to talk about my depression. By the time you are watching this, I'm already dead. I will kill myself right after this video. It's not your fault for not getting on time. It's not your fault for not keeping an eye on me. It's not everyone's fault. Don't blame yourself." I doubt they will blame themselves. My parents probably will. Or maybe my ex-boyfriend. But they will just move on. Time is the greatest healer. It will heal any wound. But not me.
My breathing runs heavy as I try to compose myself. I wipe my tears with my hands and take a few more breaths. I continue back when my breathing becomes steady again.
