“It’s not going to be like this forever”
If he couldn’t even explain what was wrong, how could he possibly tell others?
It was frustrating when he would look at the people he held dear in his life, and yet, feel absolute nothingness.
It hurts when they’d get into misunderstandings, which would lead his friends into thinking that he just didn’t care anymore while the emptiness in his chest left him feeling blank, convincing himself it was just better this way.
He never knew what to say to them though. If he himself could not even explain what was wrong, how could he possibly tell others?
He hated himself for this. He constantly recognised the hurt in their tone of voice or message when he refuses to talk to them about it. Every time he hurts his friends, a voice in the back of his head would taunt him, telling him that it was no wonder he drove everyone away. He knew that he was pushing them all away, but yet, he was selfish. He didn’t want to truthfully talk about it. Talking about it made things all too real. He didn’t want it to be real. It was just a phase. A phase that will pass if he just hid it under the rug for later.
But it was hard to ignore the growing pile beneath the rug.
Oftentimes, the emptiness was all he could see. There were nights when he would blast his favourite mixtape in his ears, as he stared at the ceiling. He would leave his calls unattended and messages unread, just allowing his mind to wander without direction. His mind would stay unnervingly blank for hours, having himself as company, wondering what it would be like if he could just not feel this way. Maybe there would be relapses, but he imagined it to be less heavy compared to the way he was feeling.
He knew that acceptance was the first step. He had to accept that this was happening — this was an actual valid thing he was facing. And what happens next? Will he always want to feel like this? He had to realise that he didn’t want to feel like this anymore.
What if the emptiness returned again, and the cycle continues of his crumbling and hurting those around him?
But what if he doesn't?
What if he takes the step forward to open up and accept that he can look for the help he needed?
What if he dutifully carries out acts of self-care to physically remember that he’s alive and well?
What if he realises that everything goes, and it’s not going to be like this forever?
This is all a process: the sun comes up, the birds come to play, the sun goes down — and on to another new day.
It can be figured out, together.
It will be okay. He could feel it.
