The roommate returned. The doctors had sent her home for a trial, to see if she could adjust to her old life again. How did she come back? With wide, bulging eyes, an immobile, yellow body, and a disconnected mind. Apparently, she had attempted suicide again, taken many pills, but after trembling, she got scared of death and sought help from doctors. The doctors brought her straight back to the clinic, to my room, where cameras watch over our health.
Was I disturbed? No! I knew what suicidal thought ment. However, my fear of loneliness deepened. Not the fear of loneliness itself, but of being alone with myself, because I don’t know what depression will prepare for me and whether I will have the strength to overcome it. This is an unbearable pain that tells you there is no future, no one loves you, and your life has no meaning anymore, so you should end it. Moreover, it’s so convincing that you can’t argue with it, you can’t bring any rational arguments from the parts of your brain that are still able to breathe even a little.
Depression has taken hold of me. I could no longer resist and I surrendered. But remember I mentioned the demon? I did not surrender to it. I fight desperately. It, however, changed tactics and fights me back with the fear of death instead of suicide. It whispers to me that I will die soon, that I don’t have much time left, and shows me scenes of events after my death. I have already seen my funeral and the mourning. I have glimpsed how my family will grieve and continue their lives without me. The difference is … they will no longer be angry at me because I did not do it myself. “Nature willed it this way,” they will say, and they will soon process the trauma caused by my death.
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