I am living in a very narrow room with no windows. Just full of rats, cockroaches and insects inside my mind.
I come home from work and all I see are rat poops everywhere. On the table. On the floor. On my bed.
I tidy my bed and sprinkle some alcohol, and only then I can sit or lie with all the office stuff with me. Wearing jeans I can’t almost fit into. Thick coat to cover my large shoulders and dark underarm.
I've got messy hair from all the stress at work and the ever dreadful commute. My dirty lunch box is still in the paper bag. I gave up on my tangled earphones. I don’t eat dinner anymore.
There's no network signal in the room so I just lie on my bed and pray to all the gods who hear me to let me sleep.
And so the routine goes on and on. That is from Mondays to Fridays. Saturdays and Sundays are the days I dread the most. I wish I was dead instead of being suffocated in that narrow room with no windows for two straight days. Going out is not an option and it’s tiresome and it’s complicated. I eat my life through eggs, hotdogs and noodles. My way of survival.
I watch movies and series but they don’t seem so appealing anymore. I can watch one episode for half an hour and then wish again that I was dead the next.
I feel so lifeless. At night, I cry. Sometimes I cry because of a lot of reasons, sometimes I cry just because.
I tried to draw wounds on my arm, my legs. I tried to choke myself with straw from a carton box. I tried to stop my breathing. I tried to drink more than 5 pills of random medicine. I punched my head. Slapped myself. All was in vain.
How could you have the courage to just jump from that building? Or to drink that whole bottle of pills? Or to slice those veins?
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Originally posted in one of my personal blogs. Edited some parts out.