The archive of the forgotten

Atlas is living?

I look at the old letter on my desk. If I am correct it is two years old, but time is slipping through myy fingers so it very well may be four years ago. I remember writing it, my face was so paralyzed, my brain felt as if it was dead.

Dear person who has the decency to read this,

Please, put this letter down. It is not meant to be read, it is not meant to be the last thing I write. Although it very well may be. I write this letter to hopefully (and perhaps succesfully) deter myself from doing the thing I am so afraid of.

I am asking myself why I would do it if I am so afraid of it. I just don't see any other ways to run from it anymore. I wish I did. Perhaps have always been destined to die early, my father did, my mother did and who says that my brother won't? I can't breathe in this world, I am willingly suffocating myself because I do not know any other way of continueing to live. No one taught me how to.

I wish I had learned to breathe, I wish I learned to live, I wish I could look at the midnight sky and see the hope I see on the good days everyday. Forget the fact half of those stars which we see might already be dead.

I put the letter down, I don't want to read the whole letter. Reading back the misery of my life does not help me right now. I wish I understood this feeling. I take a deep breath. Don't lie Atlas, you know what you feel. You feel a dread of living. You feel hollow, you feel like you're sleepwalking, you forget the feeling of joy, your beautiful emotions slowly numb, you still feel them but they feel like they're wrapped in cotton. It feels like my life doesn't matter anymore. You forget what it feels like to be well. I wish I was well.

My body is slowly destroying hope, my pounding head is slowly driving me insane. It feels like it eating my brain from the inside. I sometimes wish I could crush it under a rock in the hopes that it would hurt less. I am pretty certain it would hurt a lot less. I curse myself, there are thousand people in the world which have so much worse ilnesses. Why am I having so much self-pity? I rub my eyes trying to get some relief of the sting in my eyes. 

When I was young I was taught that everyone in life has a purpose, a meaning. We are meant to feel joy, We are meant to live, we are meant to die. what if I am meant to feel like this my whole life? What if I am meant to be different? What if I am meant to be hopeless? What if I am meant to pretend my whole life? What if I am meant be sick? What if I am meant to suffer? Alway....

And than I see myself in the mirror again and I realise that maybe I am not meant to feel joy at all. That maybe, just maybe I was only meant to be a fond memory for someone. When I look at the ghost that is living instead of me I realise that maybe, I am not meant to be at all. Maybe I never was.

I am fading, I know I am, I am preparing to leave. I feel it in my bones, even if I want to deny it. I want the world to deny it, but the flowers in my mind are dying, the colours of the world are fading, the words of my writings are blurring. I am giving up, anyone can see that. I put my head on the desk, the tear slowly drips down my temple. Have you ever cried because of who you are? Who you have come to be?

I wish I was dead.

My whole body jolts up as if it has been shocked by some electricity. I look at the scars on my wrists and immediately stand up. I walk into my bathroom and grab all the razors, I grab all the harmful object in my room. Yes, I am aware that if you think about it long enough you could make everything a harmful object. But these things are beautiful old knives I've been collecting. I put them in a cabinet and lock it. I walk out of the room and try to stop hyperventilating. I take a deep breath and walk down the stairs. "orion." He looks up, "Can you do me a favour?" I ask him, Andrew looks up. Interested why I ask Orion instead of him. "Can you please take this key somewhere I don't find it?" He smiles, he remembers the key very well. Two years ago, he looks up and hugs me. "Don't do anything stupid" He whispers. I smile and shake my head. "I will try my best" I try my best not to cry but I don't succeed.

I'm burning up my lungs in the garden, trying to resist the urge of touching the burning point. I constanstly snap the rubber band that's on my wrist. Deep breaths, I keep telling myself. The allergic reaction to the rubber band hurts but I need it right now. I remind myself that I need to buy some other kind of elastic. Andrew walks up to me. "How are you?" I smile, "I don't think I can explain" He nods and doesn't ask anything else, the silence comforts me. He doesn't have to understand to care about me, the silence is a way of convincing me he will be there. I snap the rubber again, he takes my hand, gently, and squeezes it. I feel a tear stream down my cheek. I close my eyes for a moment, "It's okay not to be alright at all times. We can help you" He says with a smile. I smile, Maybe I am meant to be after all.