Syringes

“I know I have not made the best decisions in my life, as a result I am now wallowing in my own shit. This damned and sick need to have to adulterate my body with different substances, to which all that has led me to carry; I feel disgusted, disgusted with myself. What is the damn motivation to continue now? Am I even doing this on purpose? With a purpose, I no longer feel like huddling in the darkness of my room. "
- (Get up, idiot, isn't it enough for you to hurt yourself in this way? Don't you appreciate yourself?)
- …I'm not sure
Smoke running in a thickened curtain, dispersing to later disappear in the heaviness of the room. Ashes that fall and the smell of the intense tobacco that fills the atmosphere, while you are having a conversation with yourself, the rain hits the window of the room with anger.
- (You are disgusting, you are sick, do you know?)
- …I think so
- (Look what you have become, look closely around you. You have done all this yourself)
- (This is why they all abandoned you, no, rather, you pushed them away. You abandoned them, you only thought of yourself. You are despicable)
Looking at your surroundings, you travel with your gaze every space, every corner of the room. Those corners of intensely blackened tones, like a vision of a black hole, are slowly devouring you around. The rain becomes non-existent just like your room and yourself.A blackened earthquake of complete emptiness, silent and infinite. In an imminent moment whispers and unintelligible sobs are present in the dark, a constant echo through non-existent walls little by little they become melodic voices.
Strange dark silhouettes are distinguished wrapped in the abyss with you, time is just as invisible, therefore the static of darkness envelops you in seconds that seem like years.Eventually your vision gets used to the darkness and what appeared to be just blackened silhouettes become more detailed and visible. To your unpleasant surprise, you manage to pinpoint hundreds and hundreds of (in) human faces adorning the room in a bizarre style, with a series of patterns and small hexagonal perforations fused along those walls made up of hundreds of apparently human faces. Those faces are contorted in detail in varied expressions; pain, sadness, rage, pleasure, anguish, gluttony.Those voices exuded hatred, pain, anguish, grief. Blasphemy after blasphemy the voices generated an unbearable chorus of negative emotions through the darkness.
- (Disgusting, you are a despicable being. Why do you keep doing this? Why?)
- … Shut up
- (What is the need? You are a bastard, you abandoned them, you threw them away as waste. Your mother now lost everything. You are a son of a bitch!)
- (I want more more, I want more. Go on, you've already lost everything, this is all you have left, don't lose it too)
- (Why are you still here? Go idiot, you should not continue here. Do it, do it the damn time)
- (Let it go, let it go, let it go. What are you waiting for? LET IT GO!)
- Shut up for once! ... Shit. I can't, I just can't-
(Nobody cares who you are, just disappear at once. Do it, it's not worth continuing to wallow in the same shit, end it all at once)
- (What's so special about continuing to live in the same old thing? You keep destroying yourself and you keep losing more fragments of yourself, it's no longer worth it)
- (You already lost everything, do it and stop perishing. Nothing makes sense now, this will be your last wish, it is your only way forward you know)
- Fuck! Why does nobody care?
Those faces patiently approach you between the touch of darkness, enclosing you in a small space. Little by little you lose oxygen, to later begin to hyperventilate. The suffocating sensation of drowning in a dark void, feeling that burning pressure on your chest, is suffocating and distressing. Finally the darkness consumes you in its entirety.
The first vision of the right eye, a common room. The only thing to highlight is the disorder, it seems that a hurricane swept through the place. You're back in your room, apparently it's all over now; but to think about that would be too good.
A discomfort in your forearm makes you scratch impulsively, an insatiable itch.That slight itch on your right forearm becomes little by little more annoying as you scratch more, the scale of pain increases minute by minute. No matter how much you scratch, no matter how much you scratch your forearm in a frenzy, the itching just doesn't stop; it is more it increases as time passes and you apply more force.Now it is no longer itching, it is real pain. As if hundreds of needles sting you simultaneously without stopping, it is a damn torture. The stabbing pain is so intense that it is no longer tolerable you can't just ignore it so easily, you're already desperate. You get up violently to look for something, whatever. The first thing your fingers touch aimlessly to grope is a hilt, you grip that knife tightly, looking with determination and notorious insanity at your right forearm.
- Dammit! I'm sick of this
Just a vertical rage-filled stab cut is enough to get results. The itching and pain have stopped, but you've probably never had that itch before. Probably that itch at no time was a real thing.Drip, drip, drip. Drop by drop that falls to the ceramic floor, it forms a viscous pool of a crimson brown liquid, with a not very pleasant appearance and smell.
- ... It's rotten
Relax your body now, let it fall back into the abyss. Like a petal in a picturesque shower of pale flowers, your body collapses to the ground leaving you with an indifferent gaze at the ceiling. Drip, drip, drip successively until it turns black ash. There is no more rain, there are no voices; All there is are the falling drops, the syringes and the smoke that has already become nothing. Finally the seconds turn into minutes, the minutes turn into days, the days turn into months, and the months turn into years.Time no longer works against you, because I already stopped working with you a long time ago. Your body now became a rotten meat sack with the smell of shit, your abdomen burst leaving a disgusting festival of rotten entrails in the air, in the end nobody cares about your death and it is no surprise.
Category:Mental Illness
Category:Weird