Before all I would like to thank the anonymous that left a response to my previous post, but even though I'm thankful for the words of compassion there is something that you missed, or probably misinterpreted.
I'm 28, male, and married; if for some reason I write as if I were a 16 year old kid with suffering from depression it's just a small story through which I'm trying to make a point. I know that the depression can be considered a sickness if there is no real reason for it, and there are medications for it. The emo kids are just another urban tribe that try to make their place in the world by showing who knows what, sadness? sadness for what I ask my self. I really don't understand them.
If you ask me if there was a time in my life when I thought about suicide, the answer would be yes, I have no problem admitting it. Almost 15 years ago I was going through an emotional crisis, classic teenage crisis, first love lost, and all that crap, back then I thought that there could be no greater sorrow than that and that I would never be able to over come it, but guess what, I was wrong.
Looking back now from where I stand I can almost lough at that situations, I remember a friend telling me, the best solution for a broken heart, is some Heavy Metal, so we started going to some concerts. Loud music, people jumping, hitting each other and an occasional police run once the show was over. A couple of months later I had forgotten all the pain and suffering that that lady had caused me, and I was ready to move on.
The thing is, suicide is never the answer, but in case that you are really thinking about suicide, go seek professional help. And if you are not even considering the idea, stop acting as if you were as. That's what bothers me about emo kids, they act suicidal, but have no intention on doing so.
It's more than obvious at this point that I had forgotten what I was originally going to write about (this happens to me a lot) but in any case, I'm going to try and explain why all my writing end in some kind of death. or start with a death.
During all our life we wonder why we are here, what are we supposed to do, and don't bring me that "God's divine plan" shit because I don't buy it.
I do believe that on the final moments of our life we are faced to the ultimate truth, a moment of revelation. A point in which we see where we come from and where we go to. We are to return, sooner or later, to the universe itself, so when we are about to die we can finally see the universe itself, on a whole different level, not as a mere observer, but as an important and vital part of it.
So yes I do consider death as an important part in life, and I really appreciate it, and this is something most people don't do. Why do we enjoy life? why do we love, play, interact with other people? Because in the end we'll die.
If death was optional, then living would be pointless, why should I care what I do, why should I worry about anything if I can't die?
Death same as birth give meaning to our life, and we are what we are thanks to it, so there you are this is the idea I try to show through my stories.
Tuesday, 26 October 2010
Friday, 15 October 2010
Slow
Today I had one of those eternal days at the office, the time felt as if it had decided to stop.
Anyway there was a reason for this post, but I'm unable to remember what it was, so here is a short storie, as always it will be an improvisation and no real thought will be placed into it... let's see what we can come out with.
I'm a 16 year old girl. I come from a loving famly in the suburbia outside one of the major cities in the country I live in. I was born and raised under the catholic creed. I never lacked anything, and have a preaty much acceptable body build. Nothing of this makes up to the feeling of loneliness I feel inside of me, in my soul, I feel alone, always sad and unmotivated. Nothing seems to chear me up, I go through the days as if it was just a dream, I feel I have no place in this world. The only moment I feel alive is when I feel pain, and that's why I cut myself.
I see my blood dripping from my leg, I see all the scars in my leg, and they appear to be unreal.
Every day the same routine, whenever I feel down I hide and cut myself and every day the relief I get from it reduces, I know some day this will meen nothing as well and I'll need to find something new.
Until then I'll continue to drift through life as I;ve been doing so far.
//Author Note - Fucking emos, why on earth am I writing this??? Let us make a quick drift on the speed of the text, that will impact on the speed you reed it.
Walking back home, drifting as always. a homeless asks me for a coin. I tell him no, and I move algong. I feel him walking behind me, closing in, each step I take. A strong hand grips me by the arm, and shoves me towards a wall. My clothes are being torn apart, my womanhood broke, my innocence lost. With closed eyes i star hitting and shouting, I know ther will be no answer.
I beel something cold in the floor at my side, I grab it, and smash it against my agressor. The attack ends, a heavy weight on my laps. I open my eyes, blood running through my legs, a body that doesn't move. With much effort I stand up and try to run.
I can't, everything hurts. I fall. Lights come towards me.... dont they see me? I raise my arm, knowing it's too late.
Done and done, the story is over.
I find it really hard not to kill my main characters, maybie some day one of them will survive to tell another sotry?
That will be all for the day so...... "good night, and good fight!"
Anyway there was a reason for this post, but I'm unable to remember what it was, so here is a short storie, as always it will be an improvisation and no real thought will be placed into it... let's see what we can come out with.
I'm a 16 year old girl. I come from a loving famly in the suburbia outside one of the major cities in the country I live in. I was born and raised under the catholic creed. I never lacked anything, and have a preaty much acceptable body build. Nothing of this makes up to the feeling of loneliness I feel inside of me, in my soul, I feel alone, always sad and unmotivated. Nothing seems to chear me up, I go through the days as if it was just a dream, I feel I have no place in this world. The only moment I feel alive is when I feel pain, and that's why I cut myself.
I see my blood dripping from my leg, I see all the scars in my leg, and they appear to be unreal.
Every day the same routine, whenever I feel down I hide and cut myself and every day the relief I get from it reduces, I know some day this will meen nothing as well and I'll need to find something new.
Until then I'll continue to drift through life as I;ve been doing so far.
//Author Note - Fucking emos, why on earth am I writing this??? Let us make a quick drift on the speed of the text, that will impact on the speed you reed it.
Walking back home, drifting as always. a homeless asks me for a coin. I tell him no, and I move algong. I feel him walking behind me, closing in, each step I take. A strong hand grips me by the arm, and shoves me towards a wall. My clothes are being torn apart, my womanhood broke, my innocence lost. With closed eyes i star hitting and shouting, I know ther will be no answer.
I beel something cold in the floor at my side, I grab it, and smash it against my agressor. The attack ends, a heavy weight on my laps. I open my eyes, blood running through my legs, a body that doesn't move. With much effort I stand up and try to run.
I can't, everything hurts. I fall. Lights come towards me.... dont they see me? I raise my arm, knowing it's too late.
Done and done, the story is over.
I find it really hard not to kill my main characters, maybie some day one of them will survive to tell another sotry?
That will be all for the day so...... "good night, and good fight!"
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