so this is a short story that isn't related to idols but rather to my own experiences (kind of) in living
it's fairly short and I'm sure it's somewhat unclear and has a lot of grammar mistakes but if any of you can read this and tell me what you think, that would be very helpful

Even while laying in bed, doing nothing but staring at the blank ceiling with the same expression, the world felt as if it was collapsing right on top of me. It urged me to sit up, the dizziness washing over me was nothing out of the ordinary, but nevertheless it got me anxious. Heavy breaths escape my lips and I look at the wall instead, worried that reality might slip away from me again. This isn't real. Everything is stable, nothing is falling apart. I'm okay. Instead of letting out sighs, I took air in, massaging my throbbing temple in a futile attempt to soothe my constant headache. I reassure myself once more, knowing no one else's words will resonate within me anyway, so I make no effort to seek their encouragement. This won't do. The pounding pain doesn't stop and I feel it throbbing, almost like a dull knife trying to escape after all its wrong doings inside my head. Now that's an imagery. At least among all the inner chaos, I still haven't lost my sense of humor. Wondering in circles around the jail-like home, I open the door, leaving the window sealed as always. There's no way to properly breathe inside this bedroom. It smells as bad as it looks. It has a type of scent you can't recognize unless it hit you close to home before. Somewhat reminded me of death. Maybe a tad too morbid, but that's how it made me feel. Something's off. No idea what it is, but it's wrong. That's how I feel the moment I step out of what is considered my safe zone. Well, not as though I feel happy inside it, I can't shake off the uneasiness of living, but on my bed it doesn't bother me as much. That's the only time I can take it, but refuse to live, at the same time. It probably doesn't make much sense if you don't feel the same as I do. But that's normal, you shouldn't feel like this. A midnight snack at two am, everything is dark but I can see. It's fine, the darkness doesn't completely blind me, nor does it terrify me. It's so boring. I wonder why everything refuses to give me joy these days. Although I should give music more credit than I have, seeing as it's the sole thing that redeems my lethargy and tedium. I've found that I've never had interest in learning how to play any instruments or create beautiful melodies on my own. My apathy prevented me from doing anything myself, but I find comfort in the world of sounds. Even a short moment of silence is enough to throw me off back into this insanity that insists on dragging me to the pits of Hell. I walk back into my own roon. Isn't that such a mess? How can I live like this? Why haven't I cleaned up yet? What is wrong with me? As if a mini tornado made its way out of this place to run for safety. These thoughts come to mind whenever I come back here. But it's fine. I kind of like it. When everything is in order, it only makes me want to ruin it even more. That's when my self destructiveness comes into play and I'd rather not awaken it by doing the unnecessary. I've returned with empty hands. The fridge is empty, the cabinets are empty, the table is empty and I'm not in the mood for cat food. Haven't become that desperate. Yet. My body hurts. I should move more often, but I don't see the point in getting up unless I want something. All the lights are off. I recall back to when my sister and I shared a bunk bed. I had the one on top and because of that, I had glowing stickers of stars right besides me. It's weird but they gave me a little bit of faith that reality isn't as dark, and some of us will always have a guiding light to keep us from being swallowed in the dimness. When I fell off the bunk bed due to my own carelessness, right on my face, almost receiving a concussion, we got rid of the bunk bed. My dad was insensitive about it, saying I had overreacted by crying. I think the enormous purple bruise on my chin worked as proof against him. Of course, since we ended redecorating the entire room, we got rid of the shining stars. I find it ironic that these days, just the smallest tint of light in the darkness upsets me. Isn't this too long for an intro? I think I'm milking this for a while now. Maybe, secretly, I wanted to share some things about myself but was too shy or introverted to voice out my thoughts. I didn't want people to judge me, I don't like it. But if you read it away from me, if I can't see you, then that's alright. You can judge me all you'd like, call me names and hate this, but I'll be unaware. I should have tried harder to make a good impression. Have I mentioned I can say the longest word in the English dictionary for no particular reason? That's a talent you don't hear about every day. That's right, I can do some things. I suppose it's not as impressive as having a practical talent and mental stability. Funny. I really am so funny. Sorry, I'm getting off track here. Wait, I don't recall if there was a point to this. But if you're reading it, you must be expecting something more interesting than a person rambling, right?

Oh, right! Lately, I've had an epiphany. Dramatic to call it that, but that's how it felt at the time. A near death experience, sort of. Kind of. I'm not sure if it was real or not, but I felt it regardless, that's why I wanted to talk about it.

Sadly, there's actually not much I can say that is fascinating, nothing that will keep you on edge the entire time. I'm a relatively boring person. Everything was the same, I wouldn't say it was out of the ordinary for me to be speaking with myself. You see, I have a constant paranoia that I'm being watched. Whether it's some celestial being or the government, or any other conspiracy theory, I feel as though there's someone looking at me. I covered the camera on my laptop with a wrapper from this Cola bottle I got six months ago. Regardless of the large amount of discomfort my nonsensical worries bring me, at the same time I feel obligated to speak to whoever is watching. I have a lot of vocal conversations, as if I'm talking with them. Thinking about it now, it does seem a bit crazy. It helps subside the loneliness. At some point I started doing that unconsciously. I'd walk around with earphones, I'd feel overwhelmed for some reason and then I would begin whispering to myself about the situation or the music, anything that comes to mind to distract me from all that I'm feeling. Maybe I should clarify one fact before we continue - I'm not certain I'm being watched nor will I try to convince you otherwise. Rather, it might be my own defense mechanism to face forced solitude and social anxieties. No matter what it is, it exists inside of me and it shaped who I am as a person. I cannot communicate well, conveying my emotions was a difficult task since I can remember myself. I feel shame talking about simple things with everyone, even close friends, even family. I remember going to school feeling like countless times because I couldn't find courage in me to speak up about my physical state, I felt as though my sickness will bother my mother. I thought that she might not believe me or the opposite, care too much for no good reason. I remember this one day where I felt extremely ill at school but my home room teacher was absent. When I called her, saying I want to go home, she told me to talk to another teacher, let's call her Anna. I couldn't find Anna but a classmate of mine offered to give me Anna's number. Frankly, if there was something I didn't want to do, is make a phone call. That's why I was glad when Anna didn't pick up. It made me relieved. I prefered admitting to my pain in person, although that scared me as well. The classmate who was only trying to be nice called her again, this time from her own cellphone. The teacher picked up and I was forced to take the call and tell her that I need to meet her in the teachers' lounge. When I hung up, I felt terrible. Like a burden, as if I don't deserve the right to have any days off. I started walking up the stairs to where she was waiting but on my way, I burst in tears. I couldn't stop them and trust me, I was trying. Break time was over, it's either I go inside the teachers' lounge crying and ask to leave but have literally every teacher see me extremely vulnerable or run into a bathroom, wash my face and be very late to my lesson. I chose option two. Except, when I went around the bathroom area, I saw a huge group of students. It pretty much crushed me. At least teacher would have been more understanding, instead I'm approaching a group of teenagers who will definitely mock me for my ugly crying face. Quickly, I wiped my falling tears and went into class, my head down. I sat somewhere far in the back, unlike usual where I sit in the front, eager to listen, and sniffled the entire two hours. My nose was running, my eyes were puffy and I felt guilty but I couldn't stop sobbing. Up until now, this memory is haunting me. I keep wondering why I had a small breakdown in public, especially at school. I'm usually good at keeping my feelings to myself. But recently -well, it was recently at the time- my grandpa died and I saw my mom cry for the first time in my entire life. My older sister was crying a lot, too. After that she also had a mental break down, asked to be hospitalized and euthanized, she thought she was going to die and couldn't stop bawling her eyes out. She didn't want to go to the doctor at first, she deemed it pointless because she thought that's it, she's going to lose her life. I remember how she kept asking if it's cancer, if it's terminal, if she can get an anesthesia. You know what's amusing? Her name is actually Anastasia. Huh. Didn't think about it until I wrote it. Anyway, when we were in the hospital with her since somehow I managed to convince her to go with us, I saw my mom cry for the second time in my life. My sister was so messed up, she couldn't calm down and it was showing very publicly. Please don't get me wrong, I love my sister a lot, but when I saw her losing herself, I felt some sort of emotional detachment. I couldn't bring myself to feel upset as well, all I could think of was that I want to get home and that she isn't pretty when she cries. Looking back at it, my feelings weren't showing at all. I held her hand, played with her hair, comforted both her and mom, gave them both glasses of water and my sister was cold so I gave her my jacket and yet, I didn't feel anything but annoyance. I did what I thought would help but not because I wanted to help, I just wanted her to be quiet. I think that it's a bad habit I have. I disconnect my feelings whenever someone is exposing their weaknesses. I know how they want to be understood and comforted so badly but if I get emotionally invested, I can't think clearly. By keeping it neutral, it becomes easier for me to do things that might be more helpful than me crying with them. Talking to them softly, giving them food or water, maybe physical affection if they're okay with that. Anything but listening properly. I hear it, I don't listen, I think that's a big problem. I hate that about myself, among other things. Having been used to shutting off and disappearing in the world of music, connecting with people and not songs is challenging, to say the least. I feel like music understands without me needing to say something, it doesn't force me to explain all the simple things I feel and make too complex. As I'm writing this, I keep wondering if it's comprehensible. I keep assuming no one is going to realize what I mean. In reality, I don't know how normal it is to unknowingly lock up your feelings and act based on what you think is right all while judging other people's reaction. Isn't that borderline sociopathic? Or am I overreacting and it's more common? Of course pretending is hard and I can't keep it up. Seldomly, I'll have an emotional outburst. It happens when my logic is overpowered by my shortcomings. Don't misunderstand, I think it's very important to express how you feel and keeping everything bottled up is certainly not healthy. It puts a strain on your mentality and body and it's not as if I don't encourage my friends to tell me what they're going through, I want to be there for them, but it's almost impossible when I can't even be here for myself.

About that vision I promised to tell you about - it seems I have strayed from that topic to aimlessly ramble about my life. My bad. I wanted to give you more background on my character and how I think and feel, or don't, so you might be able to get a better grasp of me and why I react the way I do. I mostly like the concept where protagonists of stories are interesting or almost perfect to an extent. I wish I was one of those heroes. Instead, I'm flawed and there's something wrong in my head. But that's okay. I don't think there's something terrible about it. Though I wouldn't know, I don't recall living without constant agitation. It's a unique sensation. It really makes you feel like there's a bunch of weights placed all over your body, keeping you grounded uncomfortably.

And now there's an immense loneliness washing over me as I write everything down, there's a rift in my reality which separates me from my loved ones and myself. In the end, there's nothing. Through that realization, came my enlightenment. This is a secret I'm sharing with everyone and I hope you will understand what I'm trying to portray. Well even if you don't, you might find hidden meanings. Maybe you can find your own message in here - a message I didn't intend to plant in this story, but have anyway. If you don't get anything of significance from my work of fiction, that's alright too. Eventually, you'll find your own meanings without needing to rely on my personal interpretation of society, of people, of mental illness. Basically, of the world. You have to, otherwise you won't ever truly live - you'll just be alive.

Babbles aside, this is my truth.