It’s like the world has lost all colour, everything seems black and white. The orange in the Autumn leaves has faded to a dirty grey, the grass is no longer green. Did I even notice the grass? Did I even notice the ground I was walking on? It’s claustrophobic, like the whole world has collapsed onto me and I can feel it’s weight restricting me, laying heavy on me and making any motion difficult. The ten fingers I write with no longer have anything to say. Even breathing feels like too much hard work.
There’s no enjoyment anymore. I can’t concentrate on anything and when I do the pleasure is no longer there. Sometimes I do things like allow myself a chocolate whilst my mind acknowledges that it might be the last time. Every activity feels like the last time because surviving is so difficult. Living feels so unbearable.
I don’t feel like me anymore, I wonder if I even look like me. I feel a million miles away from the Claire I was a few months ago and I’m certain nobody would recognise me anymore. The make up bag has stayed zipped up, showers rarely happen and clothes are no longer about style, they’re just about hiding the body that I detest strongly.
My lips are often sealed shut. I cannot relax my face and my lips stay together as though my mind is telling them to shut tight so that they don’t tell anyone how bad things are. My glasses remain unworn as I no longer notice what is around me. My mouth is dry and my stomach is empty. My smile has ended up in lost property somewhere in this world.
Emptiness. Darkness. Closeness. Heaviness. In pain and yet numbed. Quiet yet so loud. That’s what it’s like to feel suicidal.