..and all that came after.

I started slow.. still a little bit afraid, even after all of this time. Then the alcohol was introduced. Slowly. That’s when the blackouts started. Those blackouts when  you wake up the next morning, and you just don’t know what you did to yourself the night before.

Firstly, I found myself pissed off that I woke up at all the next day. Secondly, how the hell was I cutting myself (trying to end it all) during the night? Blood all over the walls and floor, and on me. Everything in the apartment was just fucked up. I had long video messages that I had recorded on my phone, explaining why I was doing this, you know, ending it. Me, actually doing this. To this day, I haven’t had the courage to actually watch them on my phone. I have a feeling that it would be more detrimental, than healing (or whatever you would to call it).

But I woke up. Apparently I couldn’t even do that right. 

Then, the next night, I went all in. And then, lying there, looking at the ceiling of my apartment, surrounded by the destruction that I had left all around my one-bedroom apartment from the previous evening, I realised that I’m not ready. I mean.. I’m ready. But it shouldn’t be like this.

My family deserves more closure than this. A more thorough explanation as to why, what’s inevitably going to happen to me, actually happened.

So I sorted myself out. Got on a plane (after a very tumultuous, and in my opinion, pathetic, cry for) and I got myself home. I was studying abroad during this period. Though that is really irrelevant in the grander scheme of things, had it been in my own apartment in my home country, the result, in the same scenario, would have been exactly the same.

Had no friends there, have no friends here, nobody to confide in (here, or there). Not even within the family, including the extended family.

So, now I’m back in the family home, What now? I’m surrounded by family (not that I’m by any means taking that for granted), I have no job, and I’m not even studying anymore.

The truth of it is, I didn’t move back here to work (I think that certain people in my family are still not completely grasping that fact, to this very day).

When I got back, that sibling that I spoke of earlier. That person saw me. Like really saw me, for once someone did.

This sibling could see that something was happening with/to me. What I had been sheltering from everyone, for years and years.

Yet.. my sibling didn’t go off telling the rest of the family, but instead, my sibling went into high gear with trying to me get help. Any help really. My sibling is a force to be reckoned with, so the help came fairly quickly, despite certain setbacks along the way. But I will always be grateful for all of that help. It was unexpected, yet tremendous.

I’m apathetic. Immobile. Expressionless. Just a heap of atoms on a couch (sometimes a bed, depending on where everybody else in the family home was).

These are my initial telltale signs of what was about to come. I just didn’t know it then. It wasn’t one thing. It wasn’t two things. It wasn’t really anything in particular.

But as the distractions went away, my illness could unfold at a tenfold.. and so starts my descension into the dark abyss that is my head, an abyss that has stayed with me ever since..

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