Worst part of the waiting game is the loneliness you feel. You can’t really talk to anybody about the voices in your head or that part of your head just wants to disconnect from your body, leaving you floating somewhere indescribable. You have to keep quiet all the time because what may be wrong with you is such a taboo that if you ever mention it, people will judge you, seeing you for something else that you am. How you can’t really explain to people what is wrong with you because you haven’t been diagnosed, but you can just feel how sick and wrong you are, and it only drives you more and more insane. Like something is poising you from inside, blurring your mind, making it hard to know what’s real and what’s not. That you want to scream from the highest mountain, or drown in the deepest lake. A mix of searching for approval and yet the urge for solitude, because you’re afraid you might hurt someone.
Afraid to talk to your parents about how you feel, because you fear they might not take you seriously. You can’t really talk either about how to address you because they’ll just think you’re over sensitive or just being silly. The fear of opening to your friends because one day they may leave you, knowing your darkest and deepest secret. And what a weapon they’ll have if they turn against you.
The tiring feeling every day because you have to fake a smile and fake a laugh. Fighting against the voices in your head. Act like everything is normal simply because you can’t deal with anyone asking how you feel. All you can do is shut up and feeling tied with both your hands behind your back as the world watches you slowly crumbling into pieces.
How school or work places demands documentary of you being so damaged and sick as you feel but you can’t give them any because no one, not even doctors or therapists know what is wrong with you. Only yourself. Because it’s you who can hear the voices. It’s you who’s mind is slowly being poisoned and it’s you who have to fight them. And in the end you’re so frustrated, the only solution is to hurt yourself in any way. Physical or psychic. And death seems so attractive, you wish he’d come visit you at night. But you know you can’t leave because of all the responsibilities you have in this world.
So this is the waiting game. Where all you can do it sit and wait. Wait for something to rot inside of you, while everyone is watching.