Same old, same old

Damned be this hole inside my chest. I can’t find anything to cover it with. Whenever I think I’m done with it, whenever I feel like I’m healed and made whole again, the pain strikes back, stronger than before. I live my days hand in hand with Anxiety. Her grip is so tight I cannot feel my fingers anymore. I’m starting to believe that my bones are broken, but she doesn’t seem to care.

Depression sits on my shoulders just like the ghost in that 2004 Thai film, “Shutter”. I feel heavier than I am. Soon, my knees will fail me and I’ll have to crawl.

I don’t feel like getting out of bed. I know I’m wasting precious time, but my mind feels fuzzy, my body lacks the energy to even drag my feel and put my slippers on. I want to stay in the dark, covered. The blanket is the only thing that gives me the illusion of feeling protected today. Why take that away from me? Why can’t I indulge in this feeling? Why do I have to get up and deal with society? People tire me out…

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