I opened my eyes to an unfamiliar expanse, a vast ocean of space stretching endlessly before me. I floated at its center, weightless.
Oddly, I felt no fear.
There is no sense of panic or confusion, only an overwhelming calm, as if this strange dreamlike realm was exactly where I meant to be.
Then, the stillness gave way to memory.
At first, they surfaced in fragments, disjointed moments, flickering images. Then, as if an old film reel had begun to turn, my life unfolded before me, scene by scene.
I saw the moment I came into the world, small, fragile, crying in the arms of a nurse. The room was dim, filled with hushed voices and the sterile scent of disinfectant.
My mother's face appeared, radiant with love despite her exhaustion. My father stood beside her, beaming with pride.
***
The scenes shifted.
I saw myself as a child, growing up in privilege. Our house was grand, surrounded by manicured gardens and a sparkling fountain. Inside, polished wood and marble gleamed beneath chandeliers, the walls adorned with portraits of ancestors I never cared to know.
It was a world that seemed perfect.
As the youngest, I was spoiled; there was no denying it. My demands were met without question, and when they weren't, tantrums followed.
I watched the exasperation in the faces of the staff, the quiet sighs of my parents as they struggled to meet my relentless demands.
I saw my older sister, too.
She was quieter, often the target of my childish whims. She would roll her eyes at my incessant chatter. Yet even in her irritation, there was a quiet warmth, perhaps, the unspoken bond of family. She often tried to ignore me, but I could see now how much I got under her skin.
My parents tried as well. They really did. I saw their efforts to placate me, to keep me happy, even as their exhaustion became more apparent.
My father, always composed, would let frustration slip in the flicker of a sharp comment or the arch of an eyebrow. My mother was softer, endlessly patient, though now, I see how tired she must have been.
***
It's hard to explain, but as a child, I felt something was off; not in any concrete way, but in a way I couldn't put into words.
From the outside, I had everything, every whim satisfied, every luxury at my fingertips. Yet beneath the indulgence lingered a quiet discomfort, a sense of something disappearing.
I remember the fleeting thrill of unwrapping new toys, only to abandon them days later, forgotten in the corners of my room. I'd laugh at animated characters, but the joy faded as quickly as it came. Friendships followed the same pattern: initial excitement, shared laughter, then an abrupt loss of interest.
Nothing held my attention for long. Nothing eased the discomfort inside me.
Looking back, I see the irony. My life was filled with blessings, yet there was always a persistent ache, a pain I couldn't explain.
It was as though, despite everything, something crucial within me was crumbling.
***
The scene shifted.
A younger sister was born.
Her arrival shifted the balance of our house. My parents' attention, once entirely mine, turned to her.
At first, I didn't understand. I threw tantrums, certain that they would bring things back to how they were. But my efforts, which once so easily captured their attention, now went unnoticed.
In one particular moment, I was demanding 'something', and for the first time, my parents didn't just ignore me.
They were angry.
Their voices, once soft, turned sharp.
I felt the sting of their disappointment, but I didn't give up. I pushed harder, hoping to win back their attention.
Then, one day, my persistence went too far, and my father raised his hand.
The blow wasn't what hurt most.
It was the look in his eyes, the unspoken declaration that I was no longer his cherished little prince.
That night, I cried myself to sleep, clutching my pillow, aching for the attention I had lost. I felt discarded, forgotten, like a toy left to gather dust in the corner of my room.
But then, amid the pain and heartbreak, something else took root.
At first, it was only a vague awareness, buried beneath confusion and grief. Over time, it sharpened.
I realized that, even before my younger sister's arrival, even when my parents' attention had been solely on me, the 'pain' inside me was still there.
I had believed my pain stemmed from external things: whether I got what I wanted, whether my parents adored me, whether I remained the center of the world.
But now... I wasn't so sure.
***
The scene shifted.
I watched my younger sister thrive, basking in the affection that had once been mind.
At first, it filled me with resentment.
But over time, I began to understand.
It was never really about her. It wasn't about my parents' affection either. I had turned them into scapegoats from a 'pain' that had always been within me.
'If the pain had always been there, untouched by my circumstances, how could I ever hope to make it disappear? What if it wasn't something I could fix or escape, but an inseparable part of me?'
That thought hit harder than I was prepared for.
But then, in those unsettling questions, there was a strange sense of relief.
For so long, I had run from the 'pain' inside me, burying it beneath distractions and noise. But now, for the first time, I saw it for what it truly was—
a steady, constant 'pain' that had always been there, untouched by anything happening around me.
And yet, seeing it clearly didn't make it disappear. Awareness alone changed nothing.
And as I stood on the edge of this new understanding, the question loomed larger, more daunting than before.
'Where do I go from here?'
***
The scene shifted.
Life moved on, indifferent to what was happening inside me. Before I knew it, I was in middle school.
The 'pain' inside me, my one true companion throughout my childhood, began to evolve. Slowly, it became the lens through which I saw the world.
It distorted everything.
What brought others joy or sadness barely registered. The things that once mattered: playing with friends, laughing at jokes, enjoying a sunny day, felt hollow, swallowed by the 'pain'.
I felt detached, as though I were watching everything from a distance.
Sports, games, the excitement of growing up, none of it mattered. None of it eased the 'pain' inside me.
But then, something else began to take shape.
The 'pain' didn't just stay constant; it grew larger, more consuming, more vicious over time.
I was terrified.
I didn't want this.
For so long, I had slowly accepted the 'pain' as part of me. But now, the thought of it growing heavier, more suffocating, was unbearable. I didn't know how much more I could carry.
Desperation crept in.
'Would it be better if I just ended it all. If I weren't alive, would the 'pain' finally disappear?'
'Would it?'
The thought lingered, growing stronger with each passing month. I didn't know where it came from, but it felt like the only solution.
***
The scene shifted.
I made my decision.
'Let's end it all.'
I jumped from the second floor of my house. In those brief moments, before I hit the ground, I felt nothing but cold determination.
But then, as I landed, came the sharp, immediate pain; an instant reminder that suffering comes in many forms.
I didn't want this kind of pain either.
I stopped eating and drinking, hoping to fade away quietly. But by the third day, the gnawing thirst and hunger turned into a new kind of suffering, one that only deepened my torment.
I didn't want this either.
This wasn't the 'relief' I had hoped for.
And just like that, I gave up.
***
The scene shifted.
Life continued, as though nothing had changed.
I went to school, interacted with people, and wore the same mask I had perfected over the years.
No one saw through it.
I kept my distance, gradually avoiding interaction and withdrawing from everything around me.
I stopped participating, stopped taking responsibility for anything.
I was barely present.
Some classmates grew frustrated with me. They saw me as a slacker, someone taking up space but contributing nothing.
I felt their disdain, though I couldn't summon the energy to care.
"Why are you just sitting there while everyone else is doing their work?" someone would ask, frustration heavy in their voice.
But I was tired, bone-deep, soul-crushing tired.
Simply 'existing' exhausted me.
The growing 'pain' inside me left no room for concern over others. There was no strength left to defend myself.
My silence only made things worse.
Without realizing it, I was labeled as the lazy one, the one everyone resented.
But what could I do? I was barely surviving.