About the nightmares that never came and a death wish

 It's been a few nights now. I thought that I would be scared of laying down because I might feel the fear I felt while screaming on the mud, but it's worst. 

I don't have nightmares or trembles.

It's instead the insomnia, it's the unstoppable thinking. 

All of the what ifs that I convince myself would have made things different. All the inexistent possibilities corrode my mind and the worst one, the most constant one...

What if I hadn't fought?

What if I had just laid there and accept whatever fate had for me?

What would happen with my existence then?

And I allow myself to go deep in my death wish, the one that is always above my head since my childhood as a dark cloud that never goes away, but the one that was repressed by the most basic human instinct: survival. 

It's hard to say how I wouldn't be here if my instincts hadn't kicked in and instead the rational side of me had surface at the time. How somehow my mind finds a sweet but sad comfort on the idea of my own death.

So there is no nightmares, no fellings about being sofocated by a bunch of bodies above me. Instead, the darkness of my room is filled with the insomnia and anxiety of staying alive, everyday without a clue and without a real purpose.

 

The weight of my existence is what actually leaves me without breath.