Press, Play, Repeat.

You show up at work looking like Nicky (from Orange is the New Black); hair’s a mess; dark eye bags beneath you bloodshot eyes; body limp and tired. You can’t stand the sight of your reflection in the mirror.

 ‘You look really bad, you should probably get some rest’

‘I will… I will’

How do you tell people that you’re still tired even though you’ve been sleeping for 10 hours every night?

The food no longer has any taste.  You could as well be eating cardboard and you won’t even notice. Everything tastes the same.

You make endless trips to the kitchen to fill up your coffee mug. You don’t even like coffee. The bitter aftertaste of the espresso is what you crave.


More water.

You walk in the rain; praying, hoping that the rain will wash away this limpness; this thirst; this anhydrous soul. But all it does is wet your clothes.

You stand beneath the shower; let the scalding water hit your skin. Hard.  Hoping, praying that the heat would jolt you back to your senses. Still, nothingness.


Whatever happened to the dreams you used to have? All that you see now is darkness. An endless abyss of darkness.

You wake up feeling like a junkie. Tired limps, throbbing head; thirst.

You drag yourself to the shower.

Another day. Another morning.

Another shot at pretending that you are alive.

Press. Play. Repeat.

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