holed up

I isolated myself in my room for maybe, five days last week; a few bananas a day, a bottle of water and a smartphone for internet access. Holed up in my room, not talking to anyone, until my mom made me go down and eat properly. Oh my mom, sorry that I can't tell you.
Without talking to anyone, but myself, obsessing with football and the EPL and nothing else. That helped me not think, because my head won't just let me be at peace. I busied my mind, so I was able to hold hopelessness in, and only when I tried to face and organize my thoughts did it start to show that I do wanted to cry. So I stopped, and went back to glue my eyes to the phone.
Trying to starve myself, for a little semblance of control in my life.
No, didn't think about starving to death, not only would it take long but I'd like to think I'm way past suicide now. Although that doesn't mean I don't think about it.

Today, and the past few days, I was able to come out of the bedroom, but not necessarily my rabbit hole. I still won't talk, about what happened and what's happening. No way, it's embarrassing.
I fell in this pitch, not yet a wonderland, but someplace where time has completely stopped. This... limbo, that came about last year, has fully grown into a fortress that this time, I willingly built.
I can't talk, can't pray. I'll probably go to hell too.


For psychiatrists out there, neurologists or psychologists as well, I'm willing to donate my brain for science.
Have a feast, what's in my skull is a classic case.


Two nights ago, I saw a falling star and wished that God won't let me be worthless.