I just lay there.
Looking up at the ceiling of my room.
It's white.
I don't care.
My mind is empty.
But too full at the same time.
I'm tired.
Exhausted in the bone-deep, soul-crushing way.
Just want to close my eyes and never open them again.
Someone asked me how I feel right now.
Was it my psychiatrist?
Or my friend?
I don't remember.
It has become to hard to discern between people.
And it's not like I can tell.
I can't explain how I feel right now.
I only know that right now nothing really matters.
My feelings are stacked away behind an exhausted numbness.
I don't need anyone.
Don't need anything.
I think I'm thirsty.
Somewhere behind the mist that clouds my mind, that is.
But I don't care.
Distinctly I remember being teached about the need for water for our body.
What had been the topic again?
Was it the rule of three?
I'm not sure.
Why do these things come to my mind?
I don't know.
Perhaps because I'm ignoring that rule of three right now.
Ignoring that it says that a human needs air every three minutes, water every three days and food every three weeks.
Else they die.
I don't need them right now.
I don't feel like I need them.
An annoying, old, half-forgotten, reasonable part of my mind tells me that I'm wrong.
That I need them.
Tells me that my throat is dry and needs water.
That my stomach hurts because it needs food.
That my lungs start to fill with pain because I'm holding my breath.
Glittering spots begin to dance on the edge of my vision.
I blink.
They don't vanish.
Just multiple.
Blinking again is too hard.
I don't want to do anything.
Just lay here.
But the spots don't go away and neither does the pain.
No matter how much my heart tells me that I don't need anything, my ancient survival instincts and my body scream otherwise.
I suck in a breath.
Unsteady.
Too sharp.
Too hard.
It causes its own kind of pain in my chest.
But it fades.
Fades with every shallow breath I take as they become steadier again.
As the black slowly withdraws from my vision and my mind.
The ceiling is all that I can see.
It's still white.
I just want to forget the world.
Perhaps that's why it became impossible to tell people apart.
Tell places apart.
Tell the time apart.
Everything is confusing.
All is different.
Just the ceiling.
It's always white.
So I just lay here and look up at it.
Just forget the world.
Block it out so that it won't reach my messed up mind or shattered fragments of my heart.
So that no one will cut themself on the sharp edges.
I don't need anyone. (No one needs me.)
No one should get close to me.
I'm fine on my own. (I'm crying)
But I don't have any energy left in me.
I don't know where I am anymore.
When I am.
Who I am.
It doesn't matter.
It's not important. (My tears run dry. Nothing left to cry.)
Let's just forget the world.
Anyone and anything can be forgotten.
Forgetting is there the quiet peace waits for me.
So I just continue staring at the ceiling.
Ignoring everything.
Unmoving.
Like a statue.
And perhaps that's right.
I'm just a statue.
A statue no one needs or cares about.
A ragged doll, no longer played with.
So I just continue doing it.
Just look up at it.
Just lay here.