Because of the medication, my sleep schedule is messed up. Messed up for me, but organized for the doctors. Drugged up, I’m already so knocked out by eight in the evening that by six-thirty in the morning, I’ve beaten everyone to getting up. When I say drugged up, it also implies that I’ve lost the ability to dream. Do I miss dreams? Were beautiful, colorful dreams soothing my sleep? No, my dreams brought nights filled with hellish nightmares.
I fought in wars, searched for family to save, felt the pain of losing them, suddenly had a small child into my hands. A flood would come with a massive three-meter wave crashing over us, and I couldn’t hold on any longer; the child slipped from my hands, and my little sister was carried away by the water, and I couldn’t save her, drowning myself. I succumbed to the ordeal, and the whirlpool dragged me in with my eyes closed, or an enemy army would attack me with bullets.
I’ve lost the ability to dream. Do I miss the dreams? No, I’m grateful to the doctors in white coats and those medications that sometimes save me from this hell.
Upon waking up, a spirals of thoughts torture me. While sleeping, I escape the torment, but wakefulness hasn’t become my friend yet. Thoughts come, reminding me of loneliness, solitude, being without love. My desire for death gathered people around me, awakened them, now they show me more love, more care, and more warmth, and I see and receive this. However, my exhausted psyche and numbed mind can’t feel emotions. This evil depression doesn’t allow it. On the contrary, it makes me think there’s no one to give me love, that everyone has left me alone and… outside… in the normal world, people live happily, laugh, embrace each other, exchange love, and live together.
The outside world, with great effort, pushed me into this closed space, showed me injustice, pain, humiliation, oppression with great persistence, pounded it into my head, and told me this is not my place. You are nothing, undesirable, a burden, and a boring being to everyone. The outside world turned me, once carefree, caring, and loving, into this. The outside world was too lazy to handle a delicate being gently. This requires great care, and the outside world was precisely too lazy for this. It threw me into another world, where I no longer understand myself either. It left me with nothing but terrifying thoughts.
People still encourage me… They tell me I’ll come back and more than that, stronger and in love with life… I wonder if it’s true? I wonder if it will really be like that?…
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