Alex sat alone in their room, the dim glow of a lamp casting long shadows on the walls. The room felt eerily quiet, a stark contrast to the storms raging inside their mind. They stared blankly at the ceiling, lost in a whirlwind of thoughts that seemed to slip through their grasp like smoke.
"I feel so weird; honestly, I feel like I've lost a part of me," Alex murmured to themselves, the words hanging heavy in the stillness. "My thoughts are just gone. It's been like this for two days now. I feel like a walking piece of meat."
They paused, a bitter smile flickering across their face as they recalled days when contemplation came effortlessly. "Before, I used to think about life and a lot of other things, but now it's almost like I can't, even if I try, or I can't even comprehend it. I always wished I wouldn't overthink, and now I think I got that granted. I feel at ease, but I also feel empty and weird."
Restless, Alex reached for a notebook beside their bed, flipping through pages filled with scribbles and half-formed thoughts. Amidst the chaos of their emotions, a sudden impulse seized them. "So, I haven't touched weed for three weeks, and yesterday I bought a pack," they admitted quietly, almost confessing to the empty room.
"When I got high, it triggered storms in my head, so I threw away my spliff," Alex continued, their voice a mixture of frustration and longing. "But at the same time, I keep thinking to myself, 'Isn't this what I wanted back, the part of me that always overthinks everything?' However, I'm also scared and confused."
The memories of that night haunted them—the fleeting rush of thoughts, the unsettling calm that followed. "I fell asleep early, woke up, and felt like it was any other day. No storms rushing through my head. I honestly don't know."
Their fingers traced over the words they had written, as if searching for answers within the lines. "I stopped smoking weed to increase my chance to overthink. Now I smoke weed and try to overthink and not care, to get that part of me that was missing, but it wasn't the same."
A heavy sigh escaped their lips. "The storms arrived even though I wasn't smoking. Now I have to smoke to create them. I don't know.
I still feel numb and empty. I don't even know my own personality, nor do I think I have one - just a twisted personality based on the environments I'm in."
Alex's mind drifted back to childhood, a time when innocence was measured by the desire for attention and approval. "When I was a kid, I often found myself seeking attention and approval from others..."
The room remained silent, the weight of their thoughts hanging in the air. In the solitude of their room, Alex wrestled with fragments of identity and the elusive pursuit of peace within themselves.
Amidst the tumultuous swirl of emotions and thoughts, Alex found themselves navigating through another day that seemed to blend into the next with an unsettling sameness. The weight of their internal battles was becoming unbearable, a relentless cycle of overthinking and numbness punctuated by fleeting moments of relief and despair.
"I'm overthinking again or I've done it the past two weeks," Alex muttered to themselves, their voice tinged with frustration. "I feel like a human being with a thought process, but I can't sleep, and when I do, I wake up every hour, no joke. I've been meeting up every morning for school. I'm at my limit soon."
Their thoughts drifted to darker places, recalling moments when the urge to self-harm had overwhelmed them. "And I cut myself last week," they confessed quietly, their words heavy with shame and defiance. "I just had the urge to do it, and I hear my own voice in my head telling me to do it. I stared at the floor for a while, trying not to do it, but then I did it, and I kept going at it."
They hesitated, reliving the raw intensity of that moment. "But something told me it wasn't deep enough, so I started slicing and felt better. Been hiding it since, even though people probably wouldn't care anyway."
As they continued to pour their thoughts onto paper, Alex grappled with the conflicting emotions that plagued them. "As I'm writing this, I want to do it again," they admitted, their voice barely above a whisper. "It gives me relief, and I like seeing the blood run down. It's like all my suppressed emotions get out. I don't know how many times I can keep going before I die. I wouldn't mind. It sounds so relaxing and peaceful."
Their words painted a haunting picture of internal turmoil, a struggle between finding solace in pain and yearning for an escape from the relentless thoughts. "I'm not able to reach out, or I've tried a lot, but I suck at it, and help doesn't come," Alex lamented bitterly. "Fuck, I want to cut. It's not like I'll get any sleep anyway. People tell me not to off myself... Like, what the heck? Tell me a reason why I shouldn't. Why do you care, and do you want to do something about it?"
They paused, their thoughts meandering through the complexities of their own perception. "I often wonder how people see me," they confessed softly. "I really want someone to talk to. Guess I'll just follow my routine, be depressed, and go to school. Get home and wait until I can sleep."
The weight of their isolation felt palpable, a burden carried silently for years. "I'm really fighting myself - why should I cut, and why shouldn't I? I don't see a reason why I shouldn't do it, I see reasons to why I should."
With a heavy heart, Alex closed their journal with a weary sigh. "That's my conclusion. Oyasumi."
In the midst of their struggles, Alex found brief respite in music, a refuge from their tumultuous thoughts. "Listening to Kikuo really makes me feel like I'm in another world, trying to keep my self-destructive thoughts away," they mused, a fleeting glimpse of distraction from their inner turmoil.
Yet, even in moments of distraction, the darkness loomed close. "I see images in my head, cutting my wrist so deep that I'll die," Alex admitted, the confession tinged with both fear and fascination. "It went away, but it's still creepy that it's so realistic. But at the same time, I want to go home and do it."