I should ask how you are doing, but we both know you will lie to me, so let’s just skip the lies. Maybe you know me, maybe you don’t know me, and honestly, that doesn’t matter. What matters here and now, is that you are already reading my letter. I’m tempted to say the world is a hostile place or a happy place, I’m tempted to praise the things that the world does while condemning the things that the world does, when in reality, all the world does is accommodate us and nothing more.
I know you’re wondering why I’m stating the obvious, even I don’t know either, but hey, keep reading, we can find out, together. I’m writing this letter from my dusty room, on the floor of a single-room house I should learn to clean often but I just don’t have the energy to do so. Everything around me is dirty and even my laptop is covered in dust. The dishes in the sink are smelly, the party plates and cups I bought are all dirty; my trash is all over the place, with delivery food boxes all over. I think I could get lost in this puddle of dirt and it would take a while to find me.
This mattress thinks I moved out while my kitchen table thinks I broke the study table; my study table on the other hand thinks I stopped writing while my floor is wondering why it has to deal with me. My bathroom thinks I went on a trip while my laundry bin thinks I finally got the courage to do my laundry. my landlady thinks I went back to mama coz I haven’t gone outside for four months and I’m very okay with it. Or maybe it’s because I’m too lazy to try and find my house keys from the trash around this house.
I pay my bills on time while popping my pills and cutting like it’s Christmas, but who doesn’t like red, right? My therapist keeps insisting on seeing me but I convinced her we could do the online counseling. I just realized I have written so many words without cursing, maybe I’m finally healing. My therapist said I should avoid curse words, but how when I don’t feel shit?
My house looks like a dumpsite and it bothers me. But that’s just it. It bothers me big time and I know I should clean up but I don’t have the energy. I always scold myself for being lazy, but even I know this isn’t laziness; I am an overthinker, so do the math. As always, I don’t feel anything, I’m stuck in my own hell; I think I’m depressed, but I can’t self-diagnose though I remember my therapist saying that in one of the sessions. My world is just there, nothing special about it or even scary about it. The emptiness is messing with me and I don’t know what to do.
Back to the aim of the letter. >>>>> Honestly I just wanted to rant to someone.
I feel better now.
Thank you for listening.