Talking Heads

Never once I listen to the voices in my head because I kill them instead.

"What are you doing to yourself?"

A typical question that had been playing inside my head from the moment I woke up even until the moment I go to sleep. A question that no matter how incoherently I answer, I still find myself looking for another one.

Indeed what am I doing these past years? Waking up for work and lying down still thinking about work. A normal routine I am used of yet I feel something amiss. Way back then when I am always filled with tight schedule cramming all the things I had to finished until dawn, I could still find myself enjoying little things but know I feel so empty and these voices inside of me made everything worst.



"I want to die."

Then just one day I found myself telling this curse words repeatedly like an unending cycle as if comforting myself to whatever that bothering me. It became the first thought I have in the morning and the last one in the night. Even in my dreams I see myself dying yet I can't bring myself to kill myself. But then why should I kill myself when now even I am in fact breathing I feel so dead? Living feels so much like dying that no matter how easy it is to breathe I find it very difficult to do. I do want to die yet at the same time I don't. A contradiction that made my life more miserable than before.

"What are you doing to yourself?" It asked again clearer and louder than those voices and I find myself looking for answer that will satisfy it but couldn't find one. "What are you doing to yourself?" It repeated the same question this time more impatient and I snapped back.

"Why do you care? You are just the voices inside my head!"

And all that was left is silence or what I thought. "Because you are killing yourself." It answered this time in a child voice that I knew too well so I didn't dare to look up because if I did, I knew I will think of living again. "If you die, I'll die too."

In truth I really don't mind, dying I mean. What made me alive today is the fact that I know I'll die. Perhaps not today but someday. This thought had kept me sane though everyday I am choking with insanity and madness of living hell. I'm not afraid of dying. We all die leaving nothing but dust and it is given. So I decided to face her, for the first time and I hated it. She is the personification of what I am in the past. Lively, passionate, cheerful and naive unlike this version of me. So I swallowed the rising bile in my throat as I hug her. "We all die. You even me, we all die." I softly spoke to her like how a mother to her child yet I know this pretense won't last anymore. "We live just to die." Gripping her neck I squeeze it hard until I know it is hard to breathe. Finally I have an answer for her question. This time I don't care whether she would like it or not.



I woke up with the sound of my phone's alarm. 5:15 AM it flashes in big red color. I stood up and for a while I paused looking at the scattered Amitriptyline in my table and the empty glass. Shrugging I went to my bathroom and start my daily routine.

"What are you doing to yourself?"

"Isn't it obvious? I'm killing it."