Introduction of a story I have yet to fully conceive
| On a particularly silent Wednesday morning, I awoke to an uninviting cold sweat and a sudden drop in blood pressure. My head and the room were spinning alike as I struggled to get a grip on my surroundings. Closet doors, nightstand, television, desk chair - I inhaled deeply and closed my eyes as if by some miracle I would fall back into a familiar, fitful state of sleep. One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi, four - my eyes shot open before I could even attempt to send my brain an abrupt signal to resist. To my distress and frankly, my utmost disappointment, my vision narrowed in on a subtle glint of gold hanging ever so slightly off the edge of my dresser. As my focus adjusted, I identified the oddly captivating object as a wildly recognizable necklace that I unbelievably and pitifully still possessed. I quickly shut my eyes, but there was virtually no use; the image had already been burned into my brain and the recollections came flooding back without warning. The way it glistened in the light of the early morning sun pouring in through the windows made me cringe. My subconscious mind refused to stop racing as my heart plummeted to the depths of my stomach, resuming the agonizing morning routine I had been experiencing for the past six months. Before I could slow down, I felt tears slide down my cheeks and soak the pillow surrounding my dripping face as a tormenting voice inside my head intoned; "She left, and she's not coming back."
* * *
I don't know what I want anymore. There isn't an ounce of motivation inside of my body. All I am able to do is sleep, cry and watch myself deteriorate. I no longer have an appetite. I haven't gone a day without partaking in self-destructive behavior in one form or another. I'm so fucking sad all the time, I physically and mentally cannot get away from it. I long to be capable of smiling and laughing, even if its just for a brief moment in time. I haven't been genuinely "okay" in almost three years, and the past six months have been the fucking inferno of this anguish. The thought of living through another calamitous mistake makes me ill. I just don't see what the point of life is if I have got nothing left to live for. Nothing has improved in the least bit since; on the contrary, shit has gotten significantly worse. Everything as I had known it to be has been annihilated, and as far as damage control goes, I am hopeless. It's like I'm too afraid to die, but life is terrifying enough. I am numb. I can barely feel any substantial emotion besides anxiety, exhaustion and harrowing pain. This constant aching in my bones is a perpetual reminder that I no longer have authority over my body or mind. I don't want to feel like this any longer. I'm so fucking sick of this sinking feeling that I make everybody's lives miserable and that I'm a dragging burden to everyone I meet. I recognize no purpose for myself in this world. It's pathetic, really, I'm torn apart over a girl that meant absolutely everything to me. She had me wrapped around her finger, and then she threw me away like I was the most insignificant thing she had ever come across. Just the thought of the sensation of her skin against mine and the elation her smile used to bring me ignites a wave of nausea. I hate that I don't fucking hate her. I have nothing to fall back on, nobody to confide in. Not a single soul wants to listen to my sad songs, so here I am. There's really nothing else I can do at this point besides tragically endeavoring to move on with my life. So if you're reading this, you're wasting your time trying to sympathize with my ongoing hopelessness. This is my feeble attempt to fight of my demons.