Four o’clock in the morning. I am awake. Again. I cannot sleep. Thoughts are tormenting me. Thousands of thoughts are spinning through my head. And my stomach is hurting. Terrible pain. I have already been to the toilet for sixth times. Going to be sick. I need to vomit. Because I forgot to eat. Again. And also to drink. As so often. Chocolate keeps me alive. And also the daily coffee belongs to my lifestyle now.
Every day I am tired. I look like a junkie. Deep dark circles draw my face. I am pale. Like a dead man. And also makeup does not help. Even getting up is difficult for me. I always put the alarm clock on snooze. More five minutes, and again five more. But there is no point. I have to get up. It is so incredibly difficult. I am like in a trance. Put one foot in front of the other. My body gets up very slowly. My movements are slinking. Very slinking. It is a day creeping. Already in the morning I am happy when the day will be over. When finally something good will happen. Or everything will be over. Forever.
Why am I doing this? I often ask myself. Why is it just so hard for me? I was never used to be like this. I was always so cheerful. Adventurous and full of energy. People called me jokingly a superwoman. Because I always had energy. And now what? I am burned out. My body is hurting noticeably. When I was happy for the first time? I forgot it. And even things that once were fun to me are just annoying. Now I hate sports. Reading is boring. And meeting friends? When I was out for the last time? I am isolating myself. I am feeling so lonely. But I have no energy for going out, for a talk. I bottle up everything. Until I will crack under tears again. Or simply sit numbly in a corner. Or can not sleep.
The monsters in my head are never quiet. Always yelling. At night I hear them the loudest. They show me everything that I could never be. Or will never be. They show me all my fears, my transgressions. And then I start to ponder. I rethink every conversation of the last days. Did I do something wrong? Probably yes. As always. I probably do everything wrong. Somehow.
At work I carry it off well. Either my insomnia, or my worries. I am friendly. Coated friendly. No one should see the real me. I have got my mask down pat. Since two years. I weep secretly, dying inside almost daily. But that nobody should know that. Until today. Because I cannot live like that anymore. I have to be honest. To be healthy. I hope that I can hope again some day. And this shall be my first step: my revelation. I am depressed. Like millions of other people in this world. It is a vicious cycle. You escape. Or you will die from it. Sooner or later.