Just like any other night – It’s 4 am. I’m struggling to remember, a few months ago, where all of this was gone, when I woke up on a cold December morning and I remembered that it had been so long that I didn’t have morning anxiety, that for the first time in over 5 years, the dawn anxiety attacks were gone.
And here I am now, clutching what’s left of serenity, with agonizing pain in my heart and an inflicting lump in my throat, here I am awake and thinking of all the horrid in life. Here I am at 4 am, wishing that the sun never comes, that I never have to wake up again.
I’m sorry. Every time I am back in a slum, I feel like the weakest creature on earth, like I have failed you and everything around me. It’s similar to the feeling of when I eat too much, and all I’m left with is guilt and shame and self-hatred.
I was so happy about this blog a few months back when it was a happy and content place. I listened to songs that I felt, and I found safety within; I got out of the house willingly, and seeing people was so idyllic. Now it’s all dark and depressive, and I am listening to It’s Over by The Smiths, and I have 14 unfinished posts in my draft, and I’m sorry that you have to read this.
And, my dear God, summer is blooming, which means all this will worsen and get uglier. And I’m terrified.
I’m sorry that I’m not what you expected; I’m sorry that I can’t be sane enough to be a normal friend or person. It’s just, I am trying so, so, hard to get out of this nightmare, of this rollercoaster, I’m trying so hard to be a better person for myself and you, but the pain in my heart still wakes me up at 4 am and tells me there is no happiness, that I don’t deserve happiness because I am what is wrong in the world and yet, I do not deserve to die.
I wish I can be better; I wish I can have nicer words and a nicer feeling, I wish I can write the way I wrote before, I wish it can get better, and I’m not awake at 4 am thinking of all the ways I could numb the pain inside me. I wish I can be better for you.