It has been three years and five months since I’ve been in this room of solitude and sorrows, talking to myself. I feel dead-alive.
I have not forgotten about you, but you must not be surprised because my mind is empty. My eyes are red with tears of separation. Depression has captured every corner of this room and swallowed my joy and smiles.
You must be aware of all of this. I don’t remember anyone except for some memories. Depression has already infiltrated my veins, leaving me with some mental disorders. I feel like I have lost myself.
Solitude still accompanies me every moment of the day. Even now, I don’t remember who I am, and I don’t care whether you think about me or not. I haven’t done anything for you to remember me.
Right now, memories have tied some psychological disorders on my shoulder with the weight of depression. Even you have broken free and run away, but I am still thinking of you in this sophisticated room filled with oceans of pain.
I am psychologically ill. Mental disorders have drowned my happiness with suicidal despair. I have been unable to cope with my self-destructive tendencies for a month and a few days.
You don’t need to worry because it’s not new to you. You already know that I have a problem with mental disorders. I am not just depressed, but dead-alive, forgiven in the ocean of memories and pains.
In this very moment, every passing second is drowning me in a world of nothingness, which is why suicidal thoughts have taken over, and I am just thinking of you to survive for a few more days in this sophisticated room to torture myself.
You are a nature-loving person who adores smiling and traveling during the rain, but I am afraid of everything. I am nothing at all. You just call me a depressed man full of memories of sorrows.
Lately, I have been thinking of you and end up crying, and sometimes I laugh for no reason. You may say that I have gone mad, but don’t worry, I don’t need a psychiatrist. I am already tied up with the thread of a nervous breakdown. I have all the symptoms of psychological problems. I have been in love with solitude, and I haven’t communicated with people for many days. I don’t remember the last time I slept. You should know that I am depressed and suffering from insomnia.
I am fed up with the injected memories of you, so I am thinking of freeing my soul from all the pain of memories. I may depart from this room of solitude before you read my last message that I sent you a long time ago.
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