I did really bad on my last exam. I forgot all the things I had memorized. I didn’t memorize them well enough. It was one of the tougher papers and three people ahead of me were absent. I couldn’t find my seat because I couldn’t find any of them. The girl who died used to sit behind me. All I could think was how they took her space. Her seat was not fucking empty. All the other seats were but they skipped her roll number. Her face wasn’t in the record sheet. I hate this place. Her roommates don’t live in her room anymore. But they’ve left the fucking tubelight on in there all these months. It’s the ugly side too. It’s not her tubelight. It’s her very bitchy roommate’s side. Every time I see it I remember how it used to mean her roommate was awake. I hate thinking of that room with the light on all the time. How cold it is and how there’s no one in a blanket under the tubelight just dusty furniture and her fucking things and her cupboard open.
I want to die because I don’t know what matters. I don’t enjoy things. I see other people enjoying them and I don’t know how that could ever be me. And I know how easy it is to be dead. No money to worry about. No exams. No more worrying about how I don’t enjoy anything and I don’t think I will ever enjoy or appreciate things people usually do. I know she isn’t worrying about anything.
She doesn’t exist. How hard is that to believe? I don’t believe in anything. A relative of mine passed away today. So quietly. No hospitals no ling drawn out illness no pain and no work for anyone. I feel like it is a choice. She passed as quietly as she lived on purpose. Because it didn’t matter to her that she was dying. Because she didn’t think it was important enough to bother anyone with it. Now she doesn’t exist. Do you know how terrible it is not to exist and for people that exist to be aware of that? I don’t want to exist. I childishly want them to exist again. To have a way to believe killing their bodies didn’t kill them. Because it feels terrible when I can’t believe that.
Someone removed her number from WhatsApp. For month no one could break into her phone. Her face was in her profile picture. She was last seen the day she did it. Sometimes I imagine her ghost. I imagine the tubelight in her room is what keeps it at bay. I imagine her face rotten and her eyes wide open like a monster. I imagine there is very little left of her in it. She is evil. But she knows who she is and that’s why she lets the tubelight keep her tied to her side of the room. Otherwise she would be angry how we treat her death. How dumb the police were. They melted her pills and left a spoon covered in melted red stuff in the corridor. They changed the cups because she had drank from them. How some professors skip her roll number and others don’t because they haven’t remembered yet. How people are going on competing even though it’s what killed her. How the Registrar threatened to expel me because I asked her to tell me where she relocated a dog that lived on campus. She and the two idiots who followed her have put nothing into perspective for any of us.
I know I’m losing it. I cannot figure out what matters and I cannot act sane. I made myself into a tiny ball to be with the man who treated me like I didn’t matter. I’m flunking every exam because I don’t want a job in the legal field. I’m talking to no one because I don’t want to do anything but work fuck smoke and shiver.
1 comment
A lot of campuses have councilors for students that are struggling. I’ve been thinking about visiting them myself, actually. But maybe stopping in wouldn’t be a bad idea, ya know? Sounds like this has had a really big impact on you.
I’m really sorry, and I wish I could be more helpful. Sometimes it’s hard to pour from a nearly empty cup, if ya get me. Out of sorts here too.