我的英语当时很差，请读者见谅
The midnights are like the endgames in chess, but they are the endgames after the clock ticked 0. Everybody else may fell at ease with the endgame, or never even considered it as a separate part in the game of life (not the one with tiles and squares), but I just become tenser and tenser by the minute.
Yes, I do feel every night time as an endgame, where you would have to be extremely careful and precautious with everything, where the wrong posture of your arm or some stupid move with your legs while you’re trying to fall asleep would be a losing move, when all attempts predates would nullify and the consequence will be a very drowsy and painful morning that I know will be looming ahead.
This sort of analogy might be seen as nihilistic and childishly bad, but I felt it no matter what. Fighting through a day is harsh and dreary, even though for the last few months, or even years I am actually doing nothing that would make it the case for a normal person to call everyday like that. But well, who am I kidding, i’m a sad, depressed little piece of junk, and I’m probably given too much leeway by my parents to shitpost on the Internet everyday, and this blog site is no exception.
People told me that life is so special that you’ll probably never experience it again. But the mere fact that I’m existing and suffering, would sometimes make me wonder the meaning of ‘the rewards of life’ that you will be getting as days go by. It occurs to me that probably a majority of the population would not question themselves this question every day. The mundane and muddy social norms and the mere existance of life and struggles itself made us to drag us along this sort of race with ourselves, releasing rage and anger in quite useless fashion.
Like what Jreg says, suicide is the fourth option in a fight, item, or flee game. You would notice that it’s there, and wondered why it’s there. But you never choose the option. And the option stays there. You can choose it, but you won’t.
Every night I would lie in bed, during the wet and hot evenings this is unbearable at times. I would toss and turn, trying to close my eyes and stay still, but most of the time my ambition to fall asleep would fail. I know the sequence coming beforehand of the eventual sleep cycle quite well, namely the sense of weightlessness, the sense of falling down a high building, into a void. And I know when I’m far from, or just plain I’m not having it tonight.
I do not anticipate relaxation after my head touches the pillow, but in fact severe uneasiness, for I desires sleep. Every second my body rests on the thin bamboo sheet laid on the soft mattress, I feel bad for not being able to fall asleep right after this second passed.
That awful feeling when you tossed and turned in bed for god knows how long, then trying you umpteenth posture that will probably result in sore muscles everywhere, closing your eyes for a certain amount of time, and then just cannot bear the fact that you just wasted your precious time on not even trying to sleep, but TRYING trying to sleep, then got out of bed, checking the time and found it’s already 2 or 3 in the morning.
The sense of hopelessness. The urge for immediate suicide attempts. The piles of meds that you just want to swallow with a big gulp. The silence mocking you for your mere existence in such a quite space, and then it demand my exile, my exile from my own space.
My mind nowadays is like the brainstem. I can’t control whether it’s high or low, like that time when I swallowed so much SSRI that my heart rate would be a stable 150, and I cannot do anything about it. The feeling of the mind controlling my whole body. Sleepiness doesn’t pounce on you, instead it slithers onto yourself.
Sleep is the mirror of my daytime activities. I feel hopeless, often suicidal when anything bad confronts me. Though I feel the urge to change things, for I suffer, but when things actually takes a turn, or a brand new chance appears in my sight, I would become frail and dodge away.
I know how, I know why, but I’m too frail even to do anything. I don’t have friends, in fact I felt the urge to die several times this morning already. I didn’t tell anyone, or try to tell anyone. I don’t have friends, and the only people that I can barely register as friends don’t have reciprocal relationships with me. I take a lot of support from them (though the support is mostly imagined by myself), but they do have their own life away from me. I felt this sort of ambivalence chatting with them through IMs. Most I haven’t even met in person. Just like that, several Internet ‘friends’ that I rely on heavily who doesn’t even need to be with me. How cowardly is that?
Just what an awful relationship with peers. My relationship with my siblings is just more awful than ever. I probably haven’t interacted with my elder brother for like several years now. From 2018 it’s just silence and nothing more. I’m just detached.
Oh god I hate myself for this. Everything after my departure to the US just exploited my weaknesses so much that I ended up in this broken state. There’s also no way to confront or redeem what has been broken, and I’m just too weak to even defend against myself.
I often scroll through twitter when I felt that sort of dread, just to find others bulleting tweets after tweets, they have everything that I don’t. I don’t share commonalities with those morons on Zhihu yelling everyday about invading US to live in big houses and eat steaks, I just fire the innard flames onto myself. Quite pathetic.
Pills are now my only savior, and at times my worst enemy. Many times I would resist using pills to get through the night just because of the side effects like drowsiness and sleeping endlessly, but a night with a insomina to 5AM without pills just prove how things can go so wrong. Now I live through pills. No pills no life. But yes, with these pills, you can kill yourself.
I may be killing myself anytime soon probably. I don’t know. Life seems easy with no life.