Suicide Letters1

خواب به بی راهه می کشد. قلم از دست می رود. شب حجمه ی تاریکش را می نشاند و من هنوز اینجا زنده ام. به خیال پردازی شکاف دیوار و زمزمه های محو تابستان و خستگی بی انتهای روح خانه ام که ترسیده، نشسته ام مگر صدای سال های پیشین از پشت این باد غم گرفته به گوش برسد. تمامی آنان و آنچه فراموش کرده، به خاک سپرده بودم، صورت هایی شدند که زیر جریان آب با چشم هایی گشاده مرا می نگرند. پشت سرم سایه ی تاریکی ست که قد بلند میکند. کش می آید، در بر می گیرد. کتابی نیمه باز کنار دستم می خواند: "مثل دری لولا شده به فراموشی، آرام آرام، از دیدم خارج شد.. ." Suicide Letters1...

I've been in Istanbul for almost three weeks now. I've been to the city maybe one or two times. just to get some stuff I wanted and then straight back to the university. I'm taking part in a super intensive program here and I am exhausted beyond belief. I haven't slept much. maybe one or two hours a night since i got here. I skip most meals (which is not really a problem) but OH! MY! GOD! THE PRESSURE! and it's not just me. there are twelve of us. none of us are the same people who got here. It's weird how people lea to adapt. How they are capable to change their habits and push themselves to a point that you might think: My God! That person is dead after this. To be honest, I’m enjoying this. Not the pain. Not the sleep deprivation. But the fact that I’m so fucking tired BECAUSE I’m doing something to be better. I’m forcing myself to go on. I think about what I want, where I want to be, and why I did this in the first place. It makes me want to keep going. And I can’t shake of this feeling that I can do more. While writing this, I feel disappointed in myself, yet proud. It’s hard to explain. Maybe to phrase it properly I should say I’m proud of myself for not wanting to give up after feeling such disappointment towards myself. I’m still dealing with my depression. With the dark, thick, fog of sorrow that lurks around my mind. There’re not enough heavy metal songs to keep me sane and safe from these shitty feelings. On my first week here, I messed up my second TP. The ir Suicide Letters1...