A Conflict

It wasn't hard to do. It was really hard to do. She did it. She didn't do it. She thought all of these things while sitting in the bathroom thinking about doing it. She didn't have the means to, but the imagery she was seeing was so vivid. Her eyes were wet and red, her face long and sad, her hair unwashed and unkempt, her nose running and her heart pounding. She looked in the mirror and imagined it against her head, pointing at the very thing that has caused this unbearable pain; she wanted it to end so badly. Her finger ready to pull, she stared into her lifeless eyes and thought about nothing while she thought of everything at the same time. Her family, a handful of friends; she was more concerned about their reactions than actually living. She didn't want to hurt them anymore, she didn't want to hurt herself anymore. She wanted to live and the only way to do that was through death. It had become impossible for her to feel alive, to enjoy anything, to smile or even cry; god, she just wanted to cry so badly. Every feeling she had was conflicted. She wanted to be alone, but she wanted to be held. She wanted to cry, but she wanted to smile. She wanted to die, but she wanted to badly to live. She wanted to be independent, but she wanted her family nearby. She wanted to punish herself, but she wanted to be proud. She wanted to sleep, but she wanted to be awake. She wanted to die, but she wanted to live. God, she wanted to live.
Living had become so hard. She couldn't focus on anything except the fact that she wasn't living. That didn't let her live. Everything had become so difficult. Blowing her nose took more energy than she could gather and she worried incessantly about disturbing her roommates or letting on to the fact that she wasn't happy. She was nearly mute and would stare into space barely acknowledging the conversation happening around her, but wishing to be part of it. She didn't know what the conversation was about, though, since she only heard voices, she didn't listen; she didn't have the energy to listen. Her inability to form relationships had halted so she had nobody to talk to or to distract her from herself. She didn't have the motivation to pick up a hobby and the one form of therapy she did practice, swimming, had become such a daunting task it hadn't even crossed her mind to go to the pool in weeks. Her hobby now was sleeping, avoiding social interaction and responsibility; even at work she was timid and forgettable. On the phone she was miles away and unfocused, in person she was mirthless and uninterested. The only thing she could think of when someone would talk to her was how she felt bad that she wasn't paying attention.


WORK IN PROGRESS