Swallowed Words

I am currently at sis's place in Tg.Malim, Perak. Waiting for the day my usefulness runs out and I return home to Kelantan only to be a burdensome freeloader. I've just finished the 6th semester, and starting February, a friend and I will be carrying out our practicum at SMK Seksyen 7 in Shah Alam for nearly 4 months. We have scouted a rent house and expected to deal a contract duration to move in around January until the end of practicum. I have moved out of the apartment I lived in during 6th semester a week ago. I've not taken my meds for a 3 weeks.

I spent Christmas holidays with Mya and Indah, and it was the only relief of the whole year.
It is now 2019.

Nothing is different.

I am dissociating, that much is obvious. I have begun to feel distaste for interaction other than necessary, yet knowing if I do not get them done, I will be alone. Help will not come. There are words stuck in my throat, unable to come out. Emotions I swallow along with them and burn at the bottom of my gut. Emotions I know I feel, but unable to express. How nostalgic.

I hate that  it comes out in the most neediest sentences. I wish that I could bulk up and endure, like I used to. I miss the times when I had no regard for my well-being. Smiling because I wish to spare pain to my darlings. I have become dishonest, and isn't that the most hateful thing I can become after all these years of priding myself on my honesty. The delicious irony.

Refusing to reach out, and ignoring the hand that did.
That is what I've become.
Does it count as another relapse? A bad habit that has returned with open arms.

An innate desire to make them leave so I could drown.

The words are repeated every single second, pictures and images abound to accompany them, pile and swirl and dance in a frenzy madness at the back of my skull, ringing with the voice of a sobbing mess. As if my head is trapped in a guillotine, waiting for the blade to come down.
It's not like the undercurrent rage where I feel like a ticking bomb. That was easier to handle. Rage is something I am acutely familiar with, and well-versed in maneuvering around. Sorrow is different.