Yanbin's Autobiography

I've always wanted to write an autobiography. Maybe it's because of the loneliness inside me, or perhaps because there is so much I want to say.

When no one can understand you, it is utterly helpless.

I began to stop talking, stop going out, and avoid contact with everyone.

I shut myself away in a tiny room, screaming, struggling, and crying out about the pain inside me.

Only when I was completely exhausted, my heart racing and my body drained, would I slowly close my eyes and eventually fall asleep, clutching a fluffy blanket.

At such times, I didn't know how long I would sleep, or whether I would wake again afterward. I only knew that, in that moment, it was as if I were dead. My mind was blank, my brow furrowed, my face contorted. I lay in the darkness, struggling with pain.

When I suddenly woke from the darkness at three in the morning, I opened my eyes, tense, anxious, and terrified. I was afraid to wake and face a new self. I was afraid something would happen that I hadn't foreseen, tormenting me all over again.

I don't want to go out, I don't want to talk, I don't want to be around anyone…