One. Madness to love you

17.01

And then I realized that I had to die.

 

22.01

Another sleepless night. It feels like I’ve lost track of time. It’s already morning. The clock in my room stopped working, and even if I desperately wanted to, I wouldn’t be able to find out what time it is. I think it’s around nine or ten in the morning now. All night I stared at the wall, thinking about nothing. I must be dying… Is all of this even real? Could everything I’m seeing right now just be a delusion, and in reality I’ve been dead for a long time already? Maybe I’m asleep, but more likely I’m dead after all. That sounds more like the truth, and I would really want that. I think I haven’t eaten for… three days? My body has almost stopped asking for food with the familiar feeling of hunger. My stomach tightens less often, but inside there is a strange emptiness, as if my body has become lighter and weaker at the same time. My hands tremble at the slightest movement, and my legs feel heavy like cotton. My head is spinning, my thoughts become slow and fragmented, as if my brain is working through thick fog.  A dry metallic taste lingers in my mouth, my lips are cracking, my heart speeds up and then beats weakly and dully. When was the last time I took my pills? I couldn’t remember right away. Time blurred like wet ink on paper. The days blended together, and each one felt equally heavy. Somewhere in my bag, I think there was still a blister pack left, but I had stopped counting the doses the way they used to tell me to. Or I pretended that I had. The last thing I remember is smoking another cigarette. It was already the fortieth one in the last two days. Trembling hands, the taste of tobacco on my lips, the bitter smell became my friend, but with it I forget myself.

It’s not a decision, it’s an attempt to hold on just a little longer. I light another one again, as if I need it more than air.

23.01

Sleeping pills don’t work on me anymore. I feel… emptiness? But why? Where did it come from if it feels like there was already nothing left inside?  It feels like a void that you don’t fall into—you simply stand at its edge and don’t understand why you’re still holding on there.

Today I remembered how much I love writing poems. Will you listen?

“To love always

To love forever

To love you or nothing

Your eyes are green-brown

Madness is you, like your eyes

Madness is loving you

To love always, because your eyes are in my heart forever.”

I think I’m starting to miss her, but she’ll never come back to me. I deserved that. This breakup shattered me into tiny pieces.

…

Looking at the clock, I grabbed my pack of cigarettes and ran out into the yard. Winter is still here. It’s -3 degrees outside, and it has even snowed, but I went out to smoke anyway. The clock reads 23:48. I take out a cigarette and light it, wrapping myself in my coat to protect myself from the wind that loved biting thin skin so much. Under the coat there’s only a T-shirt and underwear, so every gust passed through the fabric so easily, as if I wasn’t wearing anything at all.

The cold crept beneath my clothes like sharp needles, burning my ribs and leaving behind a fine shiver. I was shaking, feeling my fingers go numb, feeling the tips of my right hand gradually lose all sensation. The skin on my legs burned from the frost. It felt as if the wind was taking it away piece by piece. I hid my other hand in my pocket, searching for whatever warmth was left. Inside, my fingers found the torn cigarette pack, the coolness of the heavy metal lighter, and loose tobacco scattered at the bottom. But I didn’t care about any of that. I took my first drag, and the bitter smell filled my lungs. I enjoyed that feeling as if it were the first time. Other people enjoy life, traveling, love, but I enjoyed smoke because everything I had was gone. Every inhale filled me with hope to live. With the smoke I forget all my problems and worries, and the world stopped for a moment. I smoked and shivered from the cold while fluffy snow stuck to my clothes and my hair gradually became wet.

I watched the cigarette burn while the freezing wind kept trying to put it out. I saw something romantic in that. At midnight all the streetlights went out. Holding my third cigarette already, I hoped I wouldn’t start smoking the filter, because for me that was the height of madness.

At that moment I wanted to drink a strong espresso, but then there would be no escaping another sleepless night, and if that happened, I would go outside to smoke another thousand times. In that case, the only pack of cigarettes I had left would run out very quickly, and going out into society is complete hell for me. Everyone who sees me starts whispering and looking after me. The cigarette had already burned halfway down. My throat was already beginning to hurt, and my hands were starting to tremble. I mindlessly kept taking one drag after another until I realized I had reached the filter. In one go I took three drags and stubbed out the filter. By then it didn’t matter anymore. It wasn’t my thoughts that kept me warm, but the half-transparent smoke. Meanwhile, I had already reached the door, walked into the house, sat down in the armchair by the fireplace where a freshly brewed tea and a detective novel were waiting. At that moment, everything actually seemed very good. Without realizing it herself, the girl leaned her head back against the chair, and after a couple of minutes she finally fell asleep without ever touching the cup of tea.