Laying across a room in the same way everything is thrown around, daydreaming of shifting skies, which I can only stitch together with my rare memories of having ever experienced the world; Different hues of deep blue with serene clouds that used to reflect light onto me.
I can only think about how empty everything is. The infinite zoom of the sky that just seems eternally devoid of anything else but its own colour, I somehow seem unable to think about anything, a concept that doesn't feel as inert and so empty of everything that has ever happened, as looking at the sky is, which I am not even doing. I realize, I have been ignoring everything around me, but there is nothing but similar darkness and emptiness all around me. I see the thrown things, and I cannot imagine that I ever placed them, I cannot think of anything when looking at them, as if I had lost my voice; Who am I? Have I really done any of these things? It must be, but I almost feel too tired to even think about memories, they all bring me pain by the moment. I don't want to move either, but my body almost feels strained and its sole existence, I know I must move now, but I would rather keep losing my life than going outside. I hear rustling outside, I know I also must speak to others if I go outside. I think a little about what I would do, but I cannot think of a single thing I would say, it feels spiteful to even bring my supposed name to my mind, it's almost like I'm thinking intimately about someone I heard repeatedly through someone else; It's also so inconsiderate to think so personally about strangers. I would rather stay inside, I struggle a little bit more at how I am posed, I can think of other things, like the fact that I am hungry. It's not like I can think of anything I like, it also seems so tiring to try and drag my body across and move everything in me along with wherever my consciousness is located at, it's worse to try and think about my face and the way I have to manipulate its expressions to pretend I am something more than I ever was.
My day feels like a sour reminder of my malnutritioned birth, as if I was a small animal covered in a bloody membrane, I feel vulnerable and devoid. The birth that brings nothing but the realization that I know and I am nothing, which is why I cannot think of anything. It's almost as if I had lost connection with everything I built to pretend for others; It's gone, and there was nothing inside me that has ever constructed about what others and their things meant for me, even the way I organized my room through the years of this cycle. It has been something that I assume usually stays inside, who "I am", it just reveals itself at the cold isolation following the quiet days of my life. I could wish to die here, but I know my suicidalism is not followed by energy to even attempt anything, including the suicide itself.
I cannot think of many ways to describe these days of my life, I cannot believe that I ever was a person. I must not look back at everything I did, or even to delete all of my presence online. My name, my interests, my supposed pronouns and other identifies, they're all disconnected from who I am, it's almost like I'm looking at the account of a stranger I just logged into. It never fully goes away, it makes me stained with guilt and fear of what others will do with it. I don't want to be human anymore, like if I were capable of pulling apart from society as I wished.