11

He held the gun against his head, his hand trembling only slightly. 

Hurry up. 

The voices in his head only got louder, and yet the voice of his depression, his deep and desperate desire to feel and to die, beat out the voice of his anxiety, the fear of what pressing the trigger would really do. 

Broken.

He was broken beyond repair. He knew that for a fact now

Fear and emptiness.

The only 2 emotions he felt.

Emotions were supposed to be a spectrum of colors, a bit of red, blue, yellow, orange, purple, any color that comes to mind.

He felt like gray and white.

So plain, and so lonely.

Gray was when he felt fear. When the fear of everything came crashing down upon him, or when it trickled in like streams.

White was emptiness; absence, you could say. It was worse and yet better. It felt like he was watching everything from within his body, but he couldn't control it.

It felt like he was in a daze.

White and gray.

Gray and white.

Depression pushed the gun closer, but anxiety made his hand shake. 

Depression made him want to jump, but anxiety was scared of heights.

Depression made him wish, deeply, to drown, but anxiety didn't like water.

Depression made him want to die.

Anxiety was… scared, to say the least. It's hard to describe.

He finally felt like he was in control of his body now. Now and when he self-harmed.

He only cut once. Never again.

The sound of a car entering the garage startled him, and a tear slipped from his eye. 

HURRYUPHURRYUPHURRYUP.

Depression screamed at him and he flinched like someone had hit him.

Now or never, huh?

Broken.

First inside, now out.

He pulled the trigger.

--‐-------------

xoxo