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She feels like she's imploding. And exploding.

It’s not that she's always depressed, but when she is, it’s worse than ever. She feels like climbing the walls, like she's gonna explode on the inside and paint the room with her bloody guts and her drained out brain. It’s the worst realization she has had about herself so far.

She's desperate as fuck and she cannot talk to anyone about it. This. This is her only solution so far. Not so effective, but she has no other alternative. She feels like she cannot take the pressure and the weight anymore.

So far, smoking and drinking helped her find some sort of foggy weightlessness, but now, she can only achieve chaos. Her head is murdering her, asphyxiating her with its loud, scratchy thoughts and she is merely a frightful observer, helpless in her nature.

She possesses a strong need for affection, attention and understanding that outruns her tendency to become independent. She's her own worst enemy and is fully aware of it.  Everything is contradicting, everything is opposing everything, while she sits helplessly, breathing slower and slower, and watching herself crumble, unwind and fall apart. The dust that remains is intoxicating, making the air difficult to breathe. It’s pure poison, while inhaling her own remains messes with her head even further. It’s killing every inch of healthy tissue she has left. Every cell, every particle, every atom which builds her up is breaking brutally, is turning into nothingness, while she dangerously slides under and over herself. Sudden combustion of the spirit and of the mind. And every particle is floating carelessly into the atmosphere, intertwining with every dust particle and every dirty, disgusting piece of the universe.

She is everywhere. She is nowhere. She is nobody. Who is she? What is she?..