Waking up past noon seems to define my days lately. Hours slip away while I linger in bed, gazing at the ceiling or endlessly scrolling through social media. The simple act of rising feels like an insurmountable task. It's as if nothing is worth the effort. Somehow, I manage to emerge eventually, mostly out of necessity—when hunger calls or nature demands a visit to the bathroom. But once I'm up, I find myself sinking into the couch, lost in Netflix for the remainder of the day.
I glance around my cluttered apartment from the comfort of the couch and realize I should be productive. The dishes pile high, and the trash remains untouched. I'm fully conscious of neglecting my responsibilities, and guilt might prick me momentarily. But that guilt fails to spark any action. It's as if my mind and body conspire against my will to accomplish anything, leaving me stranded on the couch.
My phone buzzes with messages from my best friends, urging me to join them once more. They've invited me out countless times this week, and I've run out of excuses. Going out might seem enjoyable, but it won't solve the underlying numbness. Besides, it's a pricey affair. I muster a text feigning illness, and they, aware of my fib, play along, wishing me a speedy recovery.
Activities I once cherished have lost their allure. Music writing and baseball were once sources of joy, but now they feel like burdens. It's not a loss of passion; it's a vanished motivation. The spark that once fueled these pursuits has flickered out.
It's easy to label myself lazy or apathetic, but the mind, powerful and enigmatic, might be playing tricks. What's really happening? Am I truly lazy, or could there be something deeper? Maybe, just maybe, it's not laziness but a struggle with something more—a battle with depression.
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She got sick again.
No. Not that kind.
She self-destructs.
Suicide.
She wants to jump from the building and just end her life.
She wants to fall, even if she is afraid of falling.
Then everyone will notice.
Will glare.
Will doubt.
Will pray
Will cry
Or will be happy?
She wants to end the pain.
She was insane.
She's out of her mind.
"What the hell are you doing Sage?
The man was startled.
Bang.
"Stop that Sage. I said stop it!"
"No. Please don't. I love you"
Patricia looked back.
The man is already in tears.
"Please.."
But she hears the voices.
You're not good.
You're useless.
She suddenly stepped back. She stopped.
She can't die.
"I love you, Sage. Please be safe,"
Oh Dep. Please save her.