sisyphean shitfest

My mind went into hibernation mode over the weekend. I spiralled into that vegetative state again, where I lie down on the couch, blankly stare at the TV, and consume dark and disturbing TV shows or movies to find some comfort or fill the never-ending emptiness that my mind is so conditioned to dwell in. 

I eat my emotions, fatally binge on junk food like it's the end of the world, or the better food which N gets for me, drink water, put my plate aside on the table before me, slide down to my right side by taking support of the cushion and watch the most bingeable horror, thriller, or disturbing show—which according to Netflix—I will love. I don't wash my soiled fingers after eating or clear the dishes; I lie down and continue watching TV, ignoring how crusty and sticky my fingers have become. I don't cook, or brush my teeth, or scrape my tongue, or comb my hair, or shower. I simply lie down, stare blankly into the screen, and hope to escape into the landscapes, homes, and reality that those TV characters live in. Some of these stories I follow, some I don't.

Took me three days to recover from this state. This heaviness appeared out of nowhere, like a huge tidal wave, and dissipated just as quickly. I had to make my grandma fall ill for that; how else would I've been able to take leave from work? N was naturally pissed. I don't blame him for putting up with me. Rather, I don't know why he does it at all. Still got no clue. 

I don't know what's happening with my mind. I think I'm genuinely losing it. Despite no other problems, I don't know why my mind only looks for darkness, the velvety blackness and the embrace of the dark. Like, I find some weird sort of comfort in it. Like, it embraces me without judging—the only place where I can bare all my skeletons and romanticise my pain, and also get away with it. No one to stop me from spiralling into this unchecked vortex of self-pity. 

I don't know how to explain it to N or even to myself. On the surface, I'm leading a peaceful, uncomplicated life. But within, my mind is singeing with a rage so demonic that I might as well do something hilariously fatal. This fire inside my mind never douses. N has been pleading with me to get help. But somewhere I feel that I'm punishing myself by not getting it. Maybe I deserve it. I will burn in hell anyway once I die, but why not punish myself while I'm alive and put my mind through a Sisyphean shitfest?

Signing off now, just came here for a minute to dump these feelings.