I am needy.

I need to be acknowledged, affirmed, to be praised. Constantly.
These needs of mine are like an engine that keeps me going, dictating everything I do. But the machinery often falls apart. In fact, it wasn't well oiled and maintained by its manufacturers during the early years. Therefore, it now experiences all kinds of malfunctions. To be honest, this piece of junk doesn't work at all. It has been running on dirt and noxious chemicals over the seasons and it now reaps the consequences. No wonder.

I am quite insecure. Nothing within me makes me feel secure. I always peek outside of my own windows to search for significance. I need others to spoon feed my ego daily. I need them to like me. All of them. I don't coexist very well by myself, within myself. The severed inner parts are arranged and displayed in the most sploshed fashion. Even so, I strive to march forward. Though bumpy road, I hold tight onto broken Jenga. In general, I do not like to acknowledge my own needs. People don't like needy Billys so I stop being silly. Ironic considering that my needs always find their way to the surface one way or another, but at least I tried, right? Worst scenario, I can always hack off the undesirables. As a true collector, I've gathered many jagged shards of own reflection. Don't know how to fit em back together? Not a problem. Apply pitch black paint and 100% denial guaranteed. Solution #1 didn't work? No problemo. Engage in repression rituals. Say you are not needy 10x a day. Rinse and repeat. Works wonders. Eventually. Maybe.

2013
This Old MacDonald had depression, E-I-E-I-O. The man-made statue finally crumbled. The fragments no longer able to support each other. The unmet needs, buried for so long, screamed out and haunted house like apparitions, demanding to be released from graves, seeking justice. Then a chaos in the cognitive realm. And I could no longer think straight. The feelings were at an all low. No appetite. Nor slumber. Just a continual state of emptiness and infinite present. The future ceased to exist. I was robbed. Of own purpose, identities. And esteem, forgotten, forsaken.
A bleak reality. How does one even cope? This sickness of the mind. All the defence mechanisms crafted over the years, gone with the wind, like they never existed in the first place. Sense of self muted. Living in total silence, alongside the inner turmoil.

Last trump card. I decided to go up the roof. Eyes tracing the sunshine in the horizon. A cloudless sky. Moment of truth. Do I jump or not? Reluctance. Looking down, not a person on the street. Just me, myself and I. Alone, alpha to omega. Then a sudden release of sorrows. Why is heart crying out. Telling me not to be foolish. Stellar thoughts then trickled down from above, flooding my mind. They collectively wondered if anyone would mourn over my death. And if clouds would come to funeral and sneeze tonight.

Q&noA
Has my life been worth living?
Will I be remembered for anything?
Would there be a tunnel waiting?
Would I get a second chance?

Moist. Face. Warm tears.
"I don't want to die." Voice cracked.
"Someone help me & release me from myself."

I jumped. Off the roof.
Back on the balcony.

The desire to live was too strong. It drove me home, where I belonged.