Nitlott
"Wowee!"
- Feb 17, 2026
- 10
How do you start living normally? How do you look forward. I think for all my conscious life I couldn't see beyond that oak lid I've put on myself. And I still can't.
I can't remember when it all started, or how it all was before. But I want to recover from whatever this is, I really do. It's like it's become an integral part of me, another characteristic next to my favourite colour. At first it was a wish to start a "new" life and ditch everything. Then disappear, and then kill myself. I think I was 9/10 when this appeared, for god's whatever reason. Maybe I was always meant to be this way. I got through 7-8 grade by imagining how I'll get a job early, buy a gun, rent the cheapest flat on the market and shoot myself. Hopefully before fully graduating. Yeah, sounds pretentious, nearly impossible (if at all), but even then I knew it at the back of my mind. But it was peaceful thinking about it. It makes me laugh, what's the most funny part of it is that the existence of that wet dream of mine made my grades go up a little. Pure comedy. It became less comforting knowing that I'm getting older and that goal's as far as it was then.
But now I'm here, losing my marbles that I'm not decaying and I'm expected to have my life briefly planned to my 30s. I'm expected to **at least** broadly know what I'll be doing for a living or to know the exact place I'd want to study in. Something like a roadmap for my life. And I'm not there, zoning out again. It sucks.
What worsens this is the fact that I'm the one getting knocked out, the one doing the beating, and the one trying to stop it at the same time. That's definitely not healthy and doesn't help at all. It's just...I don't know, it's pretty easy to ignore your own words and beliefs when you spiral into despair. And god does it feel good doing so, there's something in seeing how low you can get.
Coming to think of describing how it feels... It's like I'm in someone's really tight suit, laying in an open casket in a church. Legs and arms paralysed, I can only slightly turn my head ways and examine the surroundings. I recognise that the person giving an eulogy is me, but I can't make out most of it. In the corner of my eye I see... myself, again, sitting in the first row in mourning clothes. There's no one else there. And the more I hear that eulogy I get more nervous, I hear my blood in my ears louder, but I can't do anything about it. And I just lay there in fear, waiting for that lid next to my upper body to close and hear than deafening sound any second. But it never does. And that eulogy goes on and on. It's torture.
The worst thing about it is that, yeah, I really did it to myself. I got into the casket willingly. It really sucks.
I can't remember when it all started, or how it all was before. But I want to recover from whatever this is, I really do. It's like it's become an integral part of me, another characteristic next to my favourite colour. At first it was a wish to start a "new" life and ditch everything. Then disappear, and then kill myself. I think I was 9/10 when this appeared, for god's whatever reason. Maybe I was always meant to be this way. I got through 7-8 grade by imagining how I'll get a job early, buy a gun, rent the cheapest flat on the market and shoot myself. Hopefully before fully graduating. Yeah, sounds pretentious, nearly impossible (if at all), but even then I knew it at the back of my mind. But it was peaceful thinking about it. It makes me laugh, what's the most funny part of it is that the existence of that wet dream of mine made my grades go up a little. Pure comedy. It became less comforting knowing that I'm getting older and that goal's as far as it was then.
But now I'm here, losing my marbles that I'm not decaying and I'm expected to have my life briefly planned to my 30s. I'm expected to **at least** broadly know what I'll be doing for a living or to know the exact place I'd want to study in. Something like a roadmap for my life. And I'm not there, zoning out again. It sucks.
What worsens this is the fact that I'm the one getting knocked out, the one doing the beating, and the one trying to stop it at the same time. That's definitely not healthy and doesn't help at all. It's just...I don't know, it's pretty easy to ignore your own words and beliefs when you spiral into despair. And god does it feel good doing so, there's something in seeing how low you can get.
Coming to think of describing how it feels... It's like I'm in someone's really tight suit, laying in an open casket in a church. Legs and arms paralysed, I can only slightly turn my head ways and examine the surroundings. I recognise that the person giving an eulogy is me, but I can't make out most of it. In the corner of my eye I see... myself, again, sitting in the first row in mourning clothes. There's no one else there. And the more I hear that eulogy I get more nervous, I hear my blood in my ears louder, but I can't do anything about it. And I just lay there in fear, waiting for that lid next to my upper body to close and hear than deafening sound any second. But it never does. And that eulogy goes on and on. It's torture.
The worst thing about it is that, yeah, I really did it to myself. I got into the casket willingly. It really sucks.
