I need you to hold
All of the sadness I cannot live with inside of me.
Sia, I’m In Here
This is not depression at its most violent or at its darkest or at its most desperate. This is depression at its most despairing.
I am hollow, empty and bare. I’m practically convulsing on the bed, clinging onto the blanket, damp with tears, as if it is the only thing tethering me to sanity. I feel wholly bereft.
I have no idea why I’m crying. I just know that I am overwhelmed by sadness. It has engulfed me, seeped into my pores and is holding me down. It is not rough or forceful, just heavy and I’m pinned down with the weight. No amount of tears can accurately portray this feeling; cry me a river indeed.
I want to float away from here, become emancipated from this life. I want to be somebody new, someone better. I hate being like this but I am too exhausted to hate anything in this moment. There is too much effort in hate.
I’d like my mind and body to be separated, attached to something stronger. The same mind with a new body; would I still think the same or would my worries dissipate? The same body with a new mind; would I see things differently or would it still be unbearable chaos in my head?
Crying releases emotions, manifests despair into water, unstoppers the bottle within you. But the bottle is cursed and it can never completely empty, continuously filling, overflowing with abandon.
I feel like all the progress I have made over the last few weeks is swiftly being undone, unravelling before me. I’m trying to hold onto it all, the positives and the breakthroughs, but there’s too much, I can’t possibly keep my grasp on it all. It’s slipping through my fingers, flowing effortlessly away from me. I’m being dragged back around the corners I’ve turned and saying goodbye to the cobblestones of progress.
The tiredness eats away at every part of me, yet falling asleep requires a remarkable amount of effort. I’d have to stop my brain from whirring; that takes effort. I’d have to relax the mind; that takes effort. I’d have to let go; that takes effort.
I’m dreaming about death again but quite passively in contrast to what I’m used to. I won’t do anything to myself, not tonight, there’s little energy left in me. I have just enough strength to repeat my nightly prayer: ‘Please don’t let me wake up’.
I feel utterly alone.
Someone help me.