Crash by Bushra Khan

I jerk upright in my bed, my eyes wide open and body drenched in cold sweat. My head
spins, my eyes burn, and my tongue feels like sandpaper. Frantically, I scan the dishevelled
room for the source of the crash, and glipse a tail disappearing behind the cardboard boxes piled up in a corner. A damn mouse, I think to myself, and let out a groan that barel
escapes my parched throat.

Swallowing hard, I fumble for a water bottle, finding one by the bedside. I gulp the water
down. It is hot and tastes like shit, coating my tongue with a bitterness that threatens to
make me retch. Misplacing the bottle somewhere, I try to blink away the heaviness in my
eyes. My face feels swollen, every inch of my body aches, and my head is still pounding. I
resemble the aftermath of a hangover, despite not having touched alcohol in months.
My heart continues to thunder in my chest as I struggle to breathe. In, Out, Deep Breaths, I
think to myself. Since when had breathing been so hard? I try to remember what day it is, my brain draws a blank. The past week, the week before that—everything is a haze. Today, it feels like breaking through a spell, emerging into a bewildering present.

I turn to gaze out of the window, and by the looks of it, the sun is already overhead. Ah, I’m
late again, I think, groaning again, a bubble of panic welling up in my chest. I gulp, trying to
quell the rising anxiety, forcing it down into the depths of my being. My hand fumbles to
reach for my phone. I turn it on and blink at its bleak, grey wallpaper. I should change it, the
thought crosses my head and rushes past me even before I have a chance to fully grasp it.
And then it’s gone, and my wallpaper stays the same dull grey. Does its bleakness seep into my life, or it is my life that leaches away the colors?

I crawl out of my bed, stumbling upon the mess of wires on the floor, causing a cascade of
objects to tumble and scatter. I glimpse something rolling and disappearing underneath the bed. I need to clean it, I think again, but it’ll have to wait. As I wear my slippers and hurry towards the bathroom, I glimpse an apple perched on my desk, coated with a delicate layer of dust, already withered and wrinkling. I should’ve eaten it last week, the thought buzzes past me and I fruitlessly try to grasp it, but it’s already gone.

As I enter the bathroom, I stand before the mirror with frustration etched on my face. I
glimpse a reflection that feels unfamiliar. Swollen, puffy eyes adorned with dark circles, a
newfound zit on my nose—it is a face I struggle to recognize. My fingers twitch with the urge to pop the blemish. My gaze trails further down and I flinch, swallowing hard, something akin to disgust rising in my chest. I try to stomp on it, but it slips from beneath my feet, grinning up at me.

The water cascades over me in a futile attempt to wash away the accumulated dirt, and a
part of me wonders how hot it should be to peel off my skin. Shaking off the thought, I rinse off quickly, eager to escape the reflection in the mirror.
On entering the room, I try to ignore the ever-increasting pile of laundry in the hamper and
strewn atop the chair, rummaging through my wardrobe to find something that is half acceptable. Grabbing a pair of relatively cleaner shirt and jeans, I struggle to smoothen out
the wrinkles. Frustration tugs at me as I dress, striving to make myself presentable.
I comb down my wet hair and dab blush on my pale, jaundiced skin. But my hand keeps
shaking and the bubble of anxiety in my chest threatens to break free. Come on, I urge
myself, you’ve a lot to accomplish today. I try to distract myself with thoughts I once cared
about, but the tricks no longer work. Nostalgia settles like a bitter taste at the back of my
throat, and I try to swallow it down.

Suddenly, the silence sounds deafening, the room suffocatingly warm, and the mess around me more overwhelming than ever. There’s a voice, faint at first but growing louder, nagging at the back of my head, as if I’m overlooking something important, something crucial. With trembling hands, I reach for my phone, desperate for a connection to the outside world. I unlock it, and the screen illuminates with a harsh brightness. 12:45 pm, the numbers mock me, a stark reminder of the passing time I’ve squandered. Panic seizes my chest, squeezing the air from my lungs (where did the time go? Wasn’t I supposed to be hurrying?).

Dejectedly, I sit at the edge of my bed. My stomach growls, reminding me that I haven’t
eaten in a while, and then, my eyes focus on the date displayed on my phone
screen—Sunday. The realization crashes over me, a wave of frustration and anger.
My fingers quiver as I turn off the phone, a surge of weariness washing over me. With a
frustrated toss, it lands haphazardly on the bed. I curl my arms around my legs, seeking
solace in the familiar embrace. The ache in my heart intensifies, a gnawing feeling that I can no longer ignore. There’s no specific trigger, just a profound sense of loss, of time slipping through my fingers like grains of sand.

And then I cry.
I sit there, enveloped in the heaviness of my emotions, the weight of regret and frustration.
The tears well up, they trickle down my cheeks, silent yet poignant. Soon, a bitter realization washes over me. The weight of all my efforts, it suddenly feels suffocating. Was it all for nothing? The endless battles with my own mind, the torment of self-doubt and anxiety that gnaws at my every thought, the relentless pursuit of a happiness that always seems just out of reach. It’s a toxic cycle, and I’m trapped in its clutches.
I reflect on the mornings like this one, where waking up feels like an uphill battle. The simple act of getting out of bed drains me of every ounce of energy, and the weight of the world settles on my shoulders before I even take my first step. Dressing up, once a routine task, has turned into an agonizing process. Every glance in the mirror brings a flood of negative thoughts, each one adding another layer of self-loathing to my already heavy heart.

The constant anxiety, like a relentless beast, devours my peace of mind. It creeps into every
corner of my existence, whispering doubts and fears, eroding my confidence with each
passing moment. It’s a never-ending cycle of self-sabotage, where I fight against my own
thoughts, trying desperately to break free from the grip they have on me. But the harder I
fight, the tighter their hold becomes.

And then there’s the depression that settles in, a heavy fog that engulfs my soul. It’s the
crushing weight of realizing how neglectful I’ve become, not just of the world around me, but of myself. The missed opportunities, the moments I let slip away, the connections I failed to nurture. It all adds up, leaving me feeling empty and questioning the purpose of it all.

In the midst of my tears, I wonder if there’s a way out of this vicious cycle. Is there a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness? Can I break free from the chains that bind me to these toxic patterns? The questions linger in the air, unanswered and haunting.
But as the tears subside, a spark of determination flickers within me. Because deep down, I
know that there must be more to life than this constant struggle. I deserve happiness, peace, and a sense of fulfillment that goes beyond fleeting moments.
It might be a slow and painful process, but I refuse to continue living like this. In the end, it all will be worth it. I just have to keep pushing, despite how hard it might get. Nothing will
change if I change nothing, and I have to break out of this suffocating cycle because no one else will do it for me.

So I wipe away the remnants of my tears, vowing to keep going, even when it feels like
everything is crumbling around me. Because that the journey towards self-discovery and
healing begins within, and only I hold the power to bring a change in my life.