It's been months since I've been able to write in here. Why? I was stuck in a psych ward because Katsuki was overly concerned about me. Not a lot even happened there. I had to stay for a lot longer than I would've liked because I just wanted to be in bed. At first, I couldn't get out of bed, but after a few weeks, I just chose to go back to bed whenever I could. I didn't want anything to do with other people.
Just like everyone else, the staff thought I was too depressed to do anything. I wasn't. I just wanted to pass the time quickly and avoid burdening other people with my presence.
Staff members were sent to check on me every five minutes or so. They tried to talk to me, but I didn't feel like wasting my breath on pointless conversations we'd all forget by the next day. I realized they wouldn't let me leave until I showed that I made enough progress and was capable of going back to my old life, so I did start talking to them. They said they were very worried about my well-being and that they just wanted to help me get better.
As if. They're just doing their jobs and getting their paychecks. In ten years, will they even remember me?
I also haven't touched any drugs or alcohol yet. This time, I'm going to try and keep myself from getting back into them. If I start putting effort into erasing this version of me I made to cope with the past, will things go back to the way they were?
Can I love Katsuki the way he loves me? Can I finally thank Mom for everything after all she's fought through to be here with me? Can I tell Natsuo he's done more than enough to make up for the days we lost? Can I show my friends how much I care about them? Can I finally grieve Fuyumi's death? Even if it's just for a day...
I'm in college now, and I share an apartment with Katsuki. We're still with everyone from our class. We're all still here. Can I find it in me to rejoice? To be thankful? To be satisfied?
I feel so incomplete. I look in the mirror, and it's like I'm looking at the picture of a completed puzzle, but inside, all the pieces of me are scattered, and some are even missing. How do you find the pieces you know you're missing, but you don't know what those exact pieces are? How do you complete a puzzle that keeps being shaken back to square one?
I feel like a puppet to life. I grew from this world, but I didn't choose to exist. I reached the peak of my days and became an apple. Then, just like so many other apples identical to me...I was severed from that vein of purpose. We scatter, bruising on the ground and tumbling away. Where will we go? We don't know. I lie here, rotting in the sun shining too brightly over my head. Or maybe those other apples are my feelings, and they've all rotted away.
I feel like I'm my phone and my phone is me. I'm the thing that functions for someone else's desire. All I can do is observe, analyze, function, respond, and come up with some errors. I'm slowing down as time goes on. My battery is nearly depleted, and that's how it stays, no matter how long I charge for. Pick me up, use me as you want, and put me down when I'm not needed. My phone? It's using me, the real object, to gather and store information. It looks sad, but it's not sad. It has a face I recognize, but that face is faceless.
Like the leaves scattering in autumn, I'll be forgotten in the endless sea of dead leaves. No matter what tree or branch we fall from, no matter how far away we scatter, and no matter how we meet our fates, we all end up the same. And yet, where one life ends, another one begins.
Goodbye, Me.