I forgot to make a door

I had earlier decided that I would be writing a post every night before going to bed. I have failed to do so. I had thought writing down my feelings on a piece of paper (or a blog, alternatively) would help release the negativity that weighs me down - as per popular belief.

Even such a trivial task like this is an ordeal. Nowadays, everything is. I even struggle with the burden of holding my head in place these days. And I am not exaggerating. My neck muscles are badly strained. It hurts so much, it makes me cry.

But then again, everything does nowadays. Even nothing does. 

Well, turns out even looking at this white-screened window makes me cry.

Does anybody have any idea, the remotest even, how difficult the most mundane things, chores, routines have become for me? How much effort they take? How they drain me completely?

What do I want? What do I have? Who do I have?

I have walls around me; thick walls, bunker-thick. I built these walls. And... I forgot to make a door. 

There is no door. 

It's dark and damp inside, it gets hard to breathe at times. And there's a stench of rot.

Do you know how it smells like when a soul rots?