My dear me, the invisible

Lesson VIII: What is pain. What it is to wish for death

Lesson VIII: What is pain. What it is to wish for death.

Painful. So were the following weeks.

My father didn't call me. My mother treated me like a little s**t and my brother… My brother called me a w***e or a b***h or a p********e. I felt isolated. Dark Dirty. Stupid… I felt like an outcast in my own home.

I blamed myself. I felt like something was eating me from within, tearing my skin little by little, I was going crazy. I wrote nonsensical things on the walls of my room, things that made me feel in tune with reality. I cried almost every night in silence, wishing so badly that my mother would come to my room and stroke my hair. I wanted my little brother to stop seeing me as trash and I wanted with all my might to have courage… To have enough courage to take my life.

Get to that point. I got to the point of questioning my mere existence, that is ... What case was there? What was the case that I was alive? That a mistake like me breathed ... I thought of thousands of ways, of all the existing methods and that I had within reach to kill me, but then after a while I was numb. I had no thoughts at all, I wasn't hungry anymore ... I just wanted to fall asleep and never see the light of the next day.

I understood that I had lost all sense. All subjection to reality.