beneath

here you can see quiyet accepting the fact
that he’s psychologically and emotionally
unstable like many other people.
//
here you can see quiyet with his eyes closed
but beneath those eyelids is a movie screen
that plays intrusive scenarios on repeat.
//
here you can see quiyet alive but haunted
by his ghosts in his house of cards.
//
but here you can also see quiyet thankful with what
he has.
//

i used to enjoy creative writing, but the last time i wrote something that i didn’t think was garbage was july of last year. so, i just stay on bed and do nothing on my leisure time. that’s when anxiety visits for a slumber party, and it tells me how terrifying it is to be left out and be abandoned and be alone and to die alone and then forgotten
when people ask why im on my bed most of the time, i tell them i dont have the energy to be doing anything besides being detrimental to my own health. then, they ask how come if i have been laying on bed all day
on occasions when im able to escape, whatever’s around me seems to be moving faster. everything feels heavier. i still try to move at a normal pace — whatever that means — but that’s just as exhausting as watching the clock.
people pretend to “understand” when i’m explaining how it’s like, but they can never empathize. i mean, how can i make them feel my feelings or the lack thereof? how can i transcribe my emotions into words so people could comprehend? how can i show what’s not there?
a juxtaposition. it’s like being alive but also dead, feeling alone around your closest friends and family, wanting and not wanting… sometimes, i feel everything, and it becomes overwhelming to the point they all just feel the same — and that’s when i start to feel nothing
and honestly, even breathing seems to be a chore now
©2018/2019, Quiyet Brul
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