The fog is like a cage without a key
Depression is nourished by a lifetime of ungrieved and unforgiven hurts
Why do you stay in prison
when the door is so wide open?
Move outside the tangle of fear-thinking.
Live in silence.
Slowly drowning in my sorrow
Wishing things would be better tomorrow
Feeling like I am in an ocean of doubt and despair,
gradually sinking and gasping for air.
Knowing life is not a light switch you can flip on and off
Simply settling and accepting I have to carry on.
Trying to keep my sanity and composure intact
out of fear of how those close to me, might react.
Fears of inadequacy as a human, as a woman, burry themselves deep in my head
As I make a foolish attempt to have a good night’s rest in my lumpy bed.
Due to the fact that there are others out there ten times better than I,
makes me afraid and let out defeated sighs.
Since it seems like things will always be this way,
its frustrating because I have to go through it day after day.
Yet, when my quandaries are more than I can bare,
I can at least take comfort in those who really care.
You know who you are, and so do I.
That knowledge keeps me from going over the edge, from giving up and giving in. I feel myself slipping once again, I know whats to come now, I’ve been here before. Lonliness and despair, just me and my thoughts, my private struggle.
I don’t want much, just to be free from this darkness, this pain, this fear. I wish people didn’t judge, I’m not ‘weak’! I can’t just ‘pull myself together!’ I wish it were that easy.
I wish they understood, I wish I didn’t have to pretent, I wish I didn’t have to hide, I wish I wasn’t me!Your path is not one of merit. Bring the recurring desires of your mind to me, every time they emerge. They cannot shock me, for I willed them! Bring me your confusion, your fear, your craving, your anxiety, your inability to love the world, your hesitation to serve, your jealousy, all the deficiencies that defy your spiritual disciplines. have studiously tried to avoid ever using the word ‘madness’ to describe my condition. Now and again, the word slips out, but I hate it. ‘Madness’ is too glamorous a term to convey what happens to most people who are losing their minds. That word is too exciting, too literary, too interesting in its connotations, to convey the boredom, the slowness, the dreariness, the dampness of depression.To me is like a deep dark pit that once you have reached bottom there is no escape.
At first began to feel yourself slding into the shadows and then complete isolation from life. Things begain to lose their color. yellows of the sunshine, and blues of the sky fade to a grey and bleak shadow that seems to ovewhelm me. I can no longer see or hear things that are pleasing to me anymore. Dark thoughts of fear and failure dwell within my mind almost constantly. I feel numb to the world and people around me. I want to be left alone because it takes so much work to hide the true pain and sadness I am feeling. The guilt for not being able to handle simple conversations. It is so hard and exhausting to pretend with people that I am ok when in fact I have spiraled downward into what I call THE PIT.
a piece is missing from me
i look and look but never find
for in this world all i seek
is that special piece that makes me complete
but when i look all i see
is pain despair and loss
but when i plunged to my coffin
my pain was gone and i was complete
so why waste a life full of pain
I’m surrounded by a crowd of friends.Yet my ears hear nothing but the stories that don’t include me, my eyes see nothing but the people turned away, and my hands feel the cold that comes from having no one around to just give me a hug.I really want… a hug… and someone to be there when they say they will, even if I push them away.
If you love someone
They will hurt you
If you trust someone
They will lie to you
If you need someone
They will leave you
If you want someone
You can’t have them
If you care
NO ONE WILL CARE ABOUT YOU
Harsh words & violent blows
Hidden secrets nobody knows
Eyes are open, hands are fisted
Deep inside I’m warped and twisted
So many tricks and so many lies
Too many whens and too many whys
Nobody’s special, nobody’s gifted
I’m just me, warped and twisted
Sleeping awake & choking on a dream
Listening loudly to a silent scream
Call my mind, the number’s unlisted
Lost in someone so warped and twisted
On my knees, alive but dead
Look at the invisible blood I’ve bled
I’m almost gone, my mind has drifted
Don’t expect much, I’m warped and twisted
Burnt out, wasted, sad, and hollow
Today’s just yesterday’s tomorrow
The sun died out, the ashes sifted
I’m still here, warped and twisted
I cry a lot. My emotions are very close to my surface. I don’t want to hold anything in so it it festers and turns into pus - a pustule of emotion that explodes into a festering cesspool of depression.i guess its supposed to give me hope that i am no different, but why does it take hateful,also painful words to make me realize when i can look into the mirror…all i do is hurt people out of my own insecurity, i like to watch my blood flow not for myself…but for everyone else to see, but i never hit a vain..for i am too selfish…for that i give up on all. I dont feel worthless…i dont feel anything but lost… my mind races so fast that i think so much i feel a snap,
when i say “i am depressed” people see that word and think the systematical theory instead of whats wrong with me… so they forget..and so do i..so i leave that moment there to eat me alive… now i feel like im wasting my time because speaking my feelings only brings on more pain. My head is so fucked it makes up its own reasons for me to not even believe myself.. i find reasons to cry… because all my life as a child i was taught not to…there for i held it in and everyday the tears take the place of my sanity…but for nothing..i dont know what to believe…when i find a reason for me not to feel unhappy.. thats when my mind acually works… to find out a way for me to destroy it..not only for me but for everyone… for instance ..god… i think of him as a way for me to get away.. sometimes i believe ..sometimes i dont.. sometimes ill think that god is just another excuse for people to fuck up.. “o he forgives” yea..keep telling yourself that.. if he forgives so much and youll go to heaven..than wtf is hell for… what good is that when im still gonna be a lost soul.. im not lost..my soul is..fuck a soul mate… they say a soul never dies.. why kill yourself if you know that eh?…yea i may seem smart..but thats just my mind fuckin with me again.. i blame god for me being here..but they will twist it around and say i thank him for me being here…cos if it werent for me..so many people wouldnt be out there feeling the way i am… no one will understand me..and i know that…
my thoughts;they become my words
;my words;they become my actions;
my actions; they become my habits;
my habits;they become character;
my character;for it becomes my destiny
Each day I die a little more in my world of self-injury, and self-hatred. I love it when it rains because then no one can see my tears.In me it like a black venomous poison that seeps into your brain at some stage of your life and infects every part, slowly at first, and then faster and faster. No matter how much you try to clear up, the first drop is still there, and it could always seep to other parts, at any time, sparked off by any cause.
People are afraid of themselves, of their own reality; their feelings most of all. People talk about how great love is, but that’s bullshit. Love hurts. Feelings are disturbing. People are taught that pain is evil and dangerous. How can they deal with love if they’re afraid to feel? Pain is meant to wake us up. People try to hide their pain. But they’re wrong. Pain is something to carry, like a radio. You feel your strength in the experience of pain. It’s all in how you carry it. That’s what matters. Pain is a feeling. Your feelings are a part of you. Your own reality. If you feel ashamed of them, and hide them, you’re letting society destroy your reality. You should stand up for your right to feel your pain.
I mean, if you were to find a shattered mirror, find all the pieces, all the shards and all the tiny chips, and have whatever skill and patience it took to put all the broken glass back together so that it was complete once again, the restored mirror would still be spider webbed with cracks, it would still be useless glued version of its former self, which could show only fragmented reflections of anyone looking into it. Some things are beyond repair. And that was me.
For in the face of heartbreak, I look up and realize it is self inflicted.
Scar tissue has no character. It’s not like skin. It doesn’t show age or illness or pallor or tan. It has no pores, no hair, no wrinkles. It’s like a slip cover. It shields and disguises what’s beneath. That’s why we grow it; we have something to hide.
Ethergoth
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