As I’m typing this, it’s currently 03:28 AM. Which isn’t too unusual for me or, I suspect, anyone identifying with anything I’m about to say.
Or, rather, type.
Today was one of my not-so-good-but-passable-days. The kind of day where I can exist in acceptable way for a few hours, neither enjoying myself nor expressly wanting it to all end in a horrible, gruesome way which I so often think about on the worst days.
today was average.
I woke up at about 1PM, give or take, and made the ever so credible excuse of “I’m ill” to my mum so I didn’t have to go to therapy. To be fair, I was sure I had sunstroke at the time but thinking about it now, it’s obvious my body just felt so repulsed by the idea of going there that it made itself ill. Some hours later, I managed to get out of bed and was free to walk about an empty house. I enjoy this for various reasons; I can play music absurdly loudly and simply not have to talk or act polite around anyone else being the chief points. I made myself some toast, sat down and opened up Buzzfeed.
Buzzfeed, as I’m sure you know, is a terrible website. They steal content from other sites, make lists consisting of nothing but Disney princesses and somehow make (what I assume to be) millions. But, being the equally terrible teenage girl I am, I read regardless. Here I remained for a number of hours, rereading the same articles, retaking the same tests, even scrolling through pages of Facebook comments, none of which really had any entertaining content in them.
Why did I do this?
Because it was one of those days.
In these days, I never really feel alive per say.
I know I’m breathing, I still feel hunger and thirst the same as anyone else but I don’t feel alive. Everything is monotonous.
I walk, I feel like I’ve been walking for 20 miles.
I open my mouth to speak, I feel like I’ve given 3 speeches in a row.
Everything blends into itself on these days. I feel exhausted for simply existing but at the same time I feel a sense of unrest and even guilt for doing nothing. But, most of all, the day is bland. I am bored to even be alive.
After hours of stagnating on Buzzfeed and even starting a new Pokemon Crystal save file, I did nothing. I sat for a while, on the floor of my dusty, uncleaned bedroom and just sat. I didn’t think, I didn’t contemplate, I just sat.
And, after a while, I began to cry a little.
Not dramatic big sobs, nothing you would see on Les Mis, but small little tears were there.
I didn’t know why I was crying and I still don’t know why I was crying but something occurred to me,
this isn’t actually normal.
Perhaps not uncommon but it wasn’t something I should just get on with. Now, I already kind of knew this, having being involved in various mental health places since the age of 12 and my mum yelling at me for a long while when she found some pathetic little self harm scratches on my arm back then but I never agreed to help. I merely drifted along, in fear of upsetting anyone else. I was fine being a self harming, suicide contemplating (and occasionally attempting) teenager for a while but now,
I’m not so sure I want it anymore.
I just want to be normal.
And so, a short while ago, I decided to make a blog. I came to this decision after filling in various online depression tests even though I knew I was already depressed, repetitively typing in things like “I want to die” into google and despairing, I thought
I just want to write it down.”
I feel trapped but as I am writing, although I find it incredibly difficult to describe how I feel, I am slightly relieved.
So, if for some reason, you are reading, then I implore you to continue because the chances are, I’ll carry on writing late night entries like this one. (Although hopefully better wrote)
It’s one minute to 4 now so I took a while with typing this out but it’s to be expected, feelings aren’t made to translate to words.