Everything feels like blurred specks in the distance now. Everything’s boring, and sometimes I think I might cease existing with how I’m living. Everyday feels the same. It all melts into this emulsified foggy memory of the same scenario replaying over and over again. It’s too empty and dragged. Too long and too void. It’s suffocating. It’s nothing. It’s slow, coiled around my neck, forced down my throat. Rusting in this stagnant pool of nothing. No inspiration, no passion, no will, nothing. I loathe this feeling…if you can even call it that. I’m numb to it all. The tears well, the stains are blatant but they contain no substance. I’m hollow, and every thought is hollow. If you stare too long at a wall it might just become everything you’ll ever see. It’s like being stuck on a scratched disk, the same scene, half of it just jumbled pixels of clashing colours. It’s empty frustration, it’s insanity, it’s all exhales. My mind is brimming with the noise of my thoughts but I can’t hear a thing. I’m desperate to cling onto anything that triggers something to destroy this nothing clawing inside of me. I’m gasping, but it’s all exhales. I’m sobbing, but it’s all exhales. I’m dying, but it’s all exhales.

There’s always this overwhelming and inescapable sadness eating me.

This feeling. It’s like a breath of fresh air. And now some emotions are slowly starting to return. It warms me up, it keeps me going, it makes me want to find out what’s waiting for me over the walls. Would I be able to learn?

Is this what I’ve been searching for?

Is this something that can lead me into finding myself?

I want to burn the image of this town into my memory.

Doesn’t mean that when it’s dark that you also have to whisper.

Rediagnosed today. On suicide watch.