Hopeless, Helpless, and Alone

For the past three days I have been wearing headphones. They are big muffs, very soundproof. I've been staring at a black rectangle, with a few smoke breaks, one meal, and some drinks of water in between. I have shut the world out of me, just as it has just me out. I have been squinting and squeezing my eyes so hard at times, but I still haven't been able to shed just one tear. I sit in my room with a box fan cooling me off while I sweat out the heat. When I go to bed, I point the breeze in my direction, so when I wake up from nightmares covered in sweat, I feel more sad than frightened.

On the black rectangle I watch things, things that keep my mind and senses out of my environment. Scary things, fighting things, mysterious things, alien things, unreal things. I switch between them pretty rapidly. My face feels like stone, sore for keeping the same position for so many days. My neglected facial hair, feet, armpits, clothes, ears, they itch. I feel as though I am going blind, both to color and the existence of all things. My mind feels dead and my body is functioning without any purpose, every day, all of the time. I have become disgusting, whether or not I was disgusted with myself before, I am now. Formerly, I was accused of many doing many bad things, including having mental problems. Some were true, but most were not. Some bad things they never knew of. My therapist once told me that I am now becoming and doing the very things they accused me of.

Speaking of, my former therapists described my current lifestyle as “avoidance” and “isolation.” These, they said, were symptoms of depression and anxiety. I am no longer allowed to see these therapists because they expelled me from their program. They said my smoke, coffee, and bathroom breaks were “avoidance” and “isolation.” These, they said, were symptoms of depression and anxiety I was apparently not supposed to have. Wait, just there, I just felt something. Anger. I guess that's good, right?

Now, I fear that it would cause me more trouble, and thus more pain, if I called for help. If I turned myself in to the proper authorities, what would they do? They would drug me, perhaps tie me up, sedate me. Once that happened, my recovery would take longer and it would be that much harder. Emergency service do me no good. Oh, how I wish I had a family I could talk to!!!!!! I wish I had people to empathize with me. To seek me out amongst the pain and torture devices that hold me, trap me, and keep me in solitude. I am locked in solitude, stuck, and without relief, or even hope of relief, from any direction, not even above. I am thrown myself off of the throne of grace, whether there was one to exist or not. I am angry that I have not been spared this ludicrous suffering. Damn them who could've spared me, and then damn myself, for I have no where else to go.