Morose

She rushed towards the sink, with her heart pounding fast and lungs gasping for air. She looked up to the mirror and stared at the ghost before her. It had pale skin, as if a blur current had passed underneath and sunken eyes with purple rings perching on the ledges of its cheekbones, protruding from its facial features. It was hard accepting her reflection. Multiple questions crashed in her head, she couldn’t remember when was her last contact with civilization and sadly, there was no clear-cut answer. Her natural spark of tinted lips and rosy cheeks had vanished, she was clad in worn out pajamas and with disheveled hair. Her aroma was an extreme blend of sea salt, weed and vomit which triggered a craving in her, instantly. She lit up a cigarette, held it in between her teeth and inhaled deeply, letting the smoke seep into her lungs, diffuse into her blood stream and hit her nerves. The comfort she ached for had finally returned. It was her version of the blue pill. She watched the specks of ash float calmly, sprinkling all over the sink as if her miseries were shearing away — so satisfying. She kept puffing, cramming the maximum dose of nicotine into her system.
Partial flashbacks arrived during this time. She remembered a glimpse of a storm she was stuck in badly for God knows how long, she swirled in an ocean of emotions and drowned almost completely! The feeling was strange; too familiar yet too strange. She was trapped in her own darkness and despair which she constantly tried to get rid of or file away and forget, like that “F” she scored in her college chemistry final or that layer of dead skin she always exfoliates however, this was intense. She ran short of words to express her state of paranoia. ‘It was heavy’ was the only way she managed to define it. It chased her everywhere she went. It was as if she was tied in shackles with it. Some days arrived when the ray of hope and sunshine would diminish instantly by it’s weight and it would just keep on growing heavier. Other days were just normal, but the wounds still existed or the scars wouldn’t vanish that constantly kept on dragging her in the cycle of misery. Most of the time she was oblivious to why she was forced into a contract with it and how long will this agony last. One day the anchor sank dragging her into the deepest parts of the ocean with itself. It sank out of nowhere and pronto, the stress kept majoring. She was drowning badly, water had filled her entire lungs making it difficult to breathe. She desperately cried for help, but her world was too gloomy and cold. In her last moments she felt as if death was any time soon — she was about to meet her Creator….
She quickly gripped over her senses and flushed the cigarette bud. How badly she strived to normalize and end this contract. Sadly, there was no rainbow, streaks of hope or any loopholes. She tried her max to blend in with civilization, but who knew it had its own reservations and battles against her. She was marginalized to an untouchable species — Depression had now gulped her entire existence completely. It was not something dark or cold, it was something without any weight or volume; it was empty.

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