I had an extremely rough day yesterday. As some of you know, we’re at risk of eviction. My work has ended, so my personal income got cut roughly in half this month. My mother is sick, and is rapidly getting thinner without us even knowing why is this so. And basically, all is going to hell.
But yesterday was an extra so day. I’m a person who was driven by anger in the past years, but anger as fuel has a problem to it: unlike Hulk, you cannot always be angry. Apathy comes. And when it does, you wish to leave. Even easier to reach this state when you have the damn manic depression.
To avoid details, I’ll just say there were three people who heard me that day. And all three acted madly. I got a call from police, kind woman carefully asking where I am, what am I doing. Then two officers came to visit, just as well asking what’s wrong, and am I sure I’m okay. The bad thing is, I was not okay. I was simply composed, because I figured what’s going on. I hid my bleeding arm behind me, as if supporting my back. I smiled and assured them we all spoke, and I’m much better now. Being hearty people they tutored me of how THIS TIME they won’t take me to mental institution, but I must take care and make sure there’s no next time.
Some of you might have noticed a sudden burst of my chattiness. I do that when I fear the silence in my head. Rare moments, but they happen. Thing is, I’m not okay. The difference between me with a blade, and me without a blade is that I hope. I hope for a sheer miracle, for there’s nothing else I can hope for. I hope, because that leftover spark in me would like to survive, no matter if anyone cares for me or not.
So if you do, I beg of you for kindness. For inside I am broken apart to so many shards that they cut and tear with every move.