Faded

It starts off slow, small increments of self-doubt. Sometimes you just chalk it up a mistake or forgetfulness, other times you make up excuses, one’s that you don’t even believe. Your friends don’t notice anything; they act the same and look the same, except to you they don’t. A veil of sorts seems to have been lifted, leaving only harsh truths. A smile never seems genuine, and a laugh always sounds fake. You start retreating, spending some more time alone, collecting your thoughts, trying to dissuade the skepticism that slowly rises ever more often than before.

Concerned looks don’t faze you; they are ignored mostly for the fact that you never seem to see them. Yet when you do, it’s taken in as pity. Time seems to slow down, as the days grow longer. Soon the weeks feel like years and you are crawling out of your skin, trying to find an escape route. Luck has left you a long time ago, and all the routes are blocked off, your own doing except there is no realization on that front. Calls become frequently ignored and soon enough all together left unanswered. The machine is full of people’s voices, the words hold no meaning and the day seems to pass with a monotone of sounds. At night it always seems to get worse, there is nowhere to go. At least in the day time, when all else fails a run could be possible, keeping the itchy feeling at bay before you claw your skin off. At night, the dark hides things, yet not well enough to persuade you to come out of your hiding. The bed sheets protect you from imaginary evils, while keeping you warm from the cool breeze.

The cold bothers you, more so now than before; losing all that weight impacted you without your notice. You don’t realize it, but you became frail looking, as well as sickly. You avoid mirrors; they capture the soul and show you the darker side of humanity. You don’t need a reminder of what lurks inside of you, of what you need to tame. Months pass and still there is no recognition of anything beyond the four walls in which you confide in. Your hair is limp, skin clammy. No one checks on you anymore, no one cares. They all gave up on you, a long time after you gave up on yourself. You mutter incoherent phrases, other than that there would be silence if the noise in your head didn’t drown it out. Soon, nothing escapes your mouth and all your senses start to shut down on you. They are no use; the words in your head have become too loud to bear. You don’t have enough restrain like you used to, so you try to claw them out. Although clawing them makes things worse. The pain is a nice change. It masks the fact that you faded away.