Things are getting worse on this side of existence. I have almost completely stopped taking care of myself. I have stopped checking the mirror or the circumference of my arm to see how thin I have already grown. I have almost stopped minding the cravings for food, only eating just enough to keep me alive for the next day. I hear my stomach grumble, but don’t pay heed.
I haven’t checked myself in the mirror. I don’t know how long my hair now is. I just know I can already tie it in a bun. I don’t know what day it is, nor do I care. I no longer think about getting my life together and into shape. Everyone, just shut up with telling me I’m “the only one who can fix my life.” That cliche has outlived its effect on me ages ago.
More screams have now pervaded even my happy waking hours, and to my dismay, within earshot of family. I try to cover it as a cough or as a random funny squeal. Worst times are when I take a bath. Being left alone in a room to just me and my thoughts is becoming a dangerous thing. I can’t close my eyes when I pour water over my head. The demons start devouring me. My chest tightens up, my heartbeat races, I grunt and then hit myself. Sometimes I attack the water or keep stomping on the floor like wanting to kill it. Painful visions have started appearing even while I’m playing. I’m no longer safe inside the walls of games I have put up around myself.
I can’t talk about my problems anymore because people are getting tired of hearing them. I can’t keep burdening them when I can’t even promise things will be okay after all the help they have given me. I should have moved on by now and I should be coping by myself yet I keep swirling downwards in a dark whirlpool with nothing to grab on to.