3.3.25 monologue (edited ver.)

A Story by suuyuwriteyunu

a diary entry back when I wasn't very well yet.

3.3.2025

I hate myself again, everyone. I hate myself for hating myself, and I hate myself for telling myself I would never hate myself ever again, yet here I am, sitting on the floor in front of my fridge, crying because I hate myself.

I can’t even care enough to turn off my watch’s buzzing 10:00pm alarm, or Mamy’s 10:00pm alarm, and I just want to go to sleep. Because my head hurts. But I don’t want to go to sleep when my head is still full of s**t and nonsense and s**t s**t s**t s**t and s**t. My nose won’t stop running and everything sucks sucks sucks sucks.

What has become of me?

What has become of---PLEASE

TELL ME I NEED TO KNOW if I really am the monster I see myself to be right now. If I really am as ugly as I feel, and as horrible, and shameless, and absolutely, horrifyingly disgusting as I am.

Someone bury me, I beg of you. I am still being polite.

Hide me with the dead, where nothing lies within their minds because they cannot harbour one, and their skulls are empty empty empty for eternity, for they are dead dead dead dead dead. I am as alive as a corpse can be, as flakey as its rotting skin and even more scabrous than that. I hate myself for caving in. I hate myself for feeling overwhelmed when there is literally no work that needs to be done. This may be my actual downfall.

I thought I already had a downfall.

I was climbing the steps back up, but, as it turns out, the ladder was made from vines. And thorns. And it stings. (It stings, it stings). And I’m bleeding and I’m throbbing and I’m hurting and I’m crying out, wailing in pain, in agony. Because what once felt like an easy climb is now something so far away from me, and I have slipped (slipped slipped slipped) back down into the pit of nothingness and everythingness once more, because of all the swirling thoughts thoughts thoughts. And the intensity---yet the numbness of it all---and mostly the deafening silence whirring around and round and round in my head, screaming blips of thoughts never fully heard but always fully understood.

I hope someone reads this journal some day and gets a glimpse into my wretched mind.

I hope someone will read this and feel like they relate to even just a sliver of it because, these feelings, these emotions, these tears are too much to bear, too much to hold with my limbs that are still trying to recover, and too much for my soul to experience all over again (all over again, all over again). Thought you could write a short story about ‘attention’? Think again! Because you can’t even pay attention to yourself! You’re hungry and starving and streaming with tears. What better way to spend life, right? To have splitting headaches and to have constantly, constantly, constantly two people fighting over your brain in your brain. Arguing arguing arguing forever and ever and EVER ARGUING because they can never never never take a break!

This is not fear. Fear has taken a vacation.

This---THIS---is pure anger, pure hatred, and the mix of all this fiery, pent-up-emotion can together burn the whole world down.

Yet it is still not enough to sear through this pit

---this cursed hole,

so the fire sears me instead.

It burns and it burns and the flames lick me and engulf me until I am in a foetal position on the ground, crying from pain yet unable to die. I am a living, breathing burnt corpse, survivor of my own fire and because of this, there is a hole in my heart. A hole so deep I don’t even know when it ends.