The cactus and other horrors

I just dont feel up to the task of living through this day.
That was the first thought that crossed my mind that day. A long, restless night had left me devastated.
The message in the middle of the night, telling both good and bad news.
My feelings right now?
I cant describe...
Just a pain somewhere deep inside me i cant neither locate nor compare to anything felt before.
Id like to say so much, yet i feel like i should remain silent for the sake of... for the sake of I dont know...
The best way to describe how i feel right now is to make a comparison with the story of the boy and the cactus. I feel like the boy, hugging tight to the cactus, hurting himself, slowly bleeding away while the cactus shares my pain and silently begs me to stop hugging him for my sake.
But i cant stop...
I keep on hugging and the cactus, despite trying to show afection and sometime getting the message across, remains silent for now.
Tears roll down my face, burn my cheecks.
I take the cup and willingly take a sip, i did it quite some time ago, knowing that it could contain either the sweetest liquor or the most bitter poison i had ever tasted.
Right now it tastes bitter like death.
It tasted somewhat sweet at first. Over time, its taste changed and varied from sweet to bitter sometimes in just a few seconds, still i drank.
Over time it has gotten somewhat sour, but the possibility of it getting sweet again made me keep drinking.
I could experience the joy of its sweetness some nights, just to be confronted with its bitternes at breakfast.
Why did i take this cup? What did i see in it?
For some, it may not be the best, it may not be richly decorated, but posseses a power that no other cup could ever wish to have.
If you got lucky, this cup would turn any drink into the best ever tasted, all the bitter sips that may be poured inside would turn into liquid gold.
A kind of philosophers cup that would make life so sweet. Yet if unlucky, you may stumble upon this cup without the necessary knowledge and taste the worst drink ever brewed.


The light hadnt turned on for the past few days.
I had to writte in the dark, not knowing how the outcome would look like and even if it would be legible.
Still i wrote frantically, like some kind of possesed maniac with an unknown purpose.
I wrote both during day and night, for in the dead of night only awaited loneliness and nightmares.
But not the usual nightmares, no. My fate was far worse than mere nightmares. They were memories brought back by my unconscious, deformed, distorted and horribly real.
I felt as if i had been there, experiencing all the pain and all the suffering i had done in the past, but multiplied by the distortion.
People i knew, people i loved all faded into darkness and came back as horrible shadows of their former selves, bringing torment unknown to any mortal man .
After the third day of getting no rest, the nightmares came true in form of hallucinations.
He tried to reassure and confort me with smooth words and hard facts:
"They are not real, snap out of it, you and i both kow they wouldnt do this to you, they werent like that, you do remember them, dont you? All the good times spent with them, all the memories, you have to try to remember the true events instead of the distortion"
All that didnt help, despite my efforts, i couldnt remember almost anything, thus rendering the hallucinations more real.

Im writting this on a scrap of paper, cornered, battered, beaten and destroyed.
I dont know if i will be able to survive through this day... Im trying, hell knows i am, but i dont seem to see nor a lantern nor a light at the end of my particular tunel.