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I stopped taking antidepressants after a long interval of withdrawal symptoms and panic attacks, waking up in tears I couldn’t explain.
However, I lost the ability to cry for some reason. I have a strong urge to cry and the tears won’t come out. I don’t feel happiness, I don’t feel distress. I am surprisingly calm. Too calm.
I am very well aware that the release of emotions won’t let out all my sorrow. Crying is not helping. But still, the overwhelming melancholy led me to believe that with the suppression of feelings during the day, I could at least be expressive in solitude, after pondering in the complete darkness of my room.
There is something warm with darkness. It makes me feel safe, like I’m unseen and invisible.
I wonder when I started being an empty living shell. They ask me “Do you have fun drawing? Do what you love. Never forget the fun in creating.”
I used to feel excitement from sharing my creations to the world. I don’t know anymore.
Nothing is enjoyable. My friend knows I’m suffering and arranged a day when we’d all meet up to have fun. She later asked “Are you feeling better?”
I thank her from the bottom of my heart. I answered yes and didn’t mean it. Behind my laughter and smile, I was always thinking “I hope you remember me being cheerful like this.”
I’ve never shown you my tears because I don’t want you to see me in my vulnerable state. Please have my smile as your final memory.
Today, we watched a documentary of a terminally ill man on his last days. Quote: “Surely, people are frightened of death and do not want to think about it. They carry on with their lifes without thinking that at any moment they could die.”
I disagree. I think about death every day.
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