Tag Archives: dark thoughts

Nine Personalities, One Tortured Mind

I took everything too seriously. I analyzed things to death. I turned every word, and the intonation of every word over in my mind trying to decide exactly what it meant, whether there was a subtext or an implied criticism. I tried to recall the expressions on people’s faces, how those expressions changed, what they meant, whether what they said and the look on their faces matched and were therefore genuine or whether it was a sham, the kind word touched by irony or sarcasm, the smile that means pity. That is what I would often be thinking and such thoughts ate away at the façade of self-confidence I was constantly raising and repairing.

― Alice Jamieson

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Today I’m Alice

“When the black thing was at its worst, when the illicit cocktails and the ten-mile runs stopped working, I would feel numb as if dead to the world. I moved unconsciously, with heavy limbs, like a zombie from a horror film. I felt a pain so fierce and persistent deep inside me, I was tempted to take the chopping knife in the kitchen and cut the black thing out. I would lie on my bed staring at the ceiling thinking about that knife and using all my limited powers of self-control to stop myself from going downstairs to get it.” 

~ Alice Jamieson

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There Will Always Be Dark Days

If you don’t think your anxiety, depression, sadness, and stress impact your physical health, think again. All of these emotions trigger chemical reactions in your body, which can lead to inflammation and a weakened immune system. Learn how to cope, sweet friend. There will always be dark days. ~ Kris Carr

It is very hard to explain to people who have never known serious depression or anxiety the sheer continuous intensity of it. There is no off switch. ~ Matt Haig

Here is the tragedy: when you are the victim of depression, not only do you feel utterly helpless and abandoned by the world, you also know that very few people can understand, or even begin to believe, that life can be this painful. There is nothing I can think of that is quite as isolating as this. ~ Giles Andreae

We live in a society bloated with data yet starved for wisdom. We’re connected 24/7, yet anxiety, fear, depression, and loneliness is at an all-time high. We must course-correct. ~Elizabeth Kapu’uwailani Lindsey

I’ve always liked depressing music because a lot of times, listening to it when you’re down can actually make you feel less depressed. Also, even though a person may have problems with depression, sometimes you can actually be kind of comfortable in that space because you know how to operate within it. ~ Chris Cornell

It’s really easy to slide into a depression fueled by the pointlessness of existence. ~ Robert Smith

Never once, during any of my bouts of depression, had I been inclined or able to pick up a telephone and ask a friend for help. It wasn’t in me. ~ Kay Redfield Jamison

You don’t think in depression that you’ve put on a gray veil and are seeing the world through the haze of a bad mood. You think that the veil has been taken away, the veil of happiness and that now you’re seeing truly. ~ Andrew Solomon

I don’t want to wake up. I am having a much better time asleep. And that’s really sad. It is almost like a reverse nightmare, like when you wake up from a nightmare you’re so relieved. I wake up each day into a nightmare. ~ Ned Vizzini

That’s the thing about depression: A human being can survive almost anything, as long as she sees the end in sight. But depression is so insidious, and it compounds daily, that it’s impossible to ever see the end.” ~ Elizabeth Wurtzel

If you know someone who’s depressed, please resolve never to ask them why. Depression isn’t a straightforward response to a bad situation; depression just is, like the weather.
Try to understand the blackness, lethargy, hopelessness, and loneliness they’re going through. Be there for them when they come through the other side. It’s hard to be a friend to someone who’s depressed, but it is one of the kindest, noblest, and best things you will ever do. ~ Stephen Fry

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24/7

Some days, 24 hours is too much to stay put in, so I take the day hour by hour, moment by moment. I break the task, the challenge, the fear into small, bite-size pieces. I can handle a piece of fear, depression, anger, pain, sadness, loneliness, illness. I actually put my hands up to my face, one next to each eye, like blinders on a horse.

~Regina Brett

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My Story

And at night , as I lay in my bed, they came my darling Erinyes, laughing softly in the dark, cold and triumphant, tender and merciless, their claws and teeth loving, beautifully seductive. Together they explore the cavities of my brain, with a mother’s tenderness, tearing, slicing with exquisite delicacy… By day they were invisible, barbed gossamer beneath my skin, a mesh of finest steel tightening and contracting on to my heart’s bloody core. I prayed- or tried to pray- But God wanted none of it. My sufferings and guilt were tastier morsels. God fed well on me.

Days… Weeks of obscene delirium at the hands of my darling Incubus. Like God they were hungry; vicious mow on their desperation.

I knew what they wanted, snapping at the leash, snarling and foaming for a glimpse of prey. I knew what they wanted. The story. My story. And I wanted to tell it…

~ Sleep, My Pale Sister

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Scared

My dark secrets are life-threatening. Pockets of unhappiness set in aspic that build and build. I have this primitive feeling that if something good happens, it is going to be followed by something bad. There is always a price to pay.  – Sue Townsend

What I’m scared of?

Happy. I’m scared to be happy.

My experience of happiness, the bits and snippets of it had always been threaded with pain. When bad things are happening for too long you’ve come to expect it that when good things come your way, you think it’s a trap, a trick to lure you only to find out that at the very end there is nothing but false promises designed to fool you in believing like with other people happiness exists for you too.

But sadly, experience had shown me otherwise. Good things indeed never last. I am so familiar with the cliché that it keeps me from enjoying the moment, knowing what will happen next, I am already dreading the inevitable before it’s actually there. Life taught me not to be attached to anything or anyone. I learned (without knowing) not to miss people and places. Everything is temporary. Heraclitus said: The Only Thing That Is Constant Is Change and I agree. Nothing lasts forever. Especially good things.

Someone somewhere asked: What exactly is the standard to be happy? And I thought: Yeah, what is? Success? Network? Family? Material things? All of them? None of them? I don’t know. 

Do you?

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Ghost House

The room, the room is cozy. Clean and bright and spacious. The walls are painted in soft earth tones, except for the feature wall directly behind the bed which is wallpapered with geometric pattern edged with gold on an eggshell background. The ceiling is white. Not stark white but warm like sunset’s glow on summer months. The night tables with curved legs are painted cream, distressed and dirtied to give them a used look some people find beautiful. On them are tall matching lamps with ornate base and aloe vera plants in white pots. Next to the plant on the right are a sheep and lamb figurines and an angel made of metal painted off-white and brown. On the left sits another angel, a rag doll with her own miniature doll, again off-white, with lace trimmings. Next to it is a bottle of water and a book. Aside from a painting on wood of some African image which looks like a Masai tribe from a distance but only blobs of faceless colors when viewed closer and a large rectangle mirror with carved wooden frame painted in nude color, the walls are otherwise devoid of any ornamentation.

The bed itself is a farmhouse-style metal bed with iron frame in a dark roast finish. It was once a canopy bed when it was standing in a much bigger room in a much bigger house. Now, the posts have been removed to accommodate the low ceiling of a cottage style house it now belongs to. The beddings are white with crocheted edges, two of the six pillows have crocheted cases. One of them is ergonomically designed suited for special needs. The comforter is thick and fluffy and warm. Too warm. There is a metal rocking chair at the foot of the bed piled high with stuffed toys in various sizes. All of them in neutral colors the darkest of them all, black. Nobody knows the existence of a big kitchen knife under the pillow. In case…

The woman on the bed can’t stop looking at the tiny gap between the curtains. Cream colored curtains that filtered the light softly making the room much brighter without being intrusive. It bothers her, the gap. Keeps her from closing her eyes and concentrate on trying to sleep. Not that it is the reason why she’s lying awake but it does certainly contribute to the agitation she’s feeling right now. Where is that coming from, this nervousness, the feeling of being incomplete and missing out on something? The state of being numbed and not there. Existing but not alive, dead, dead inside dead in her head. 

When she was eight years old, she found out while standing on the breakwater her father had painstakingly made to keep the waves from crashing against the dikes, that the world has nothing to offer to her. The certainty of being been there done that twice over and back again still with the same conclusion was so strong it took all her power not to jump in the water and drowned herself. That feeling never changes through the years but somehow she managed always to go on searching for anything that could prove her wrong and it kept her alive, able to enjoy momentarily pleasures, but only for a time before she embarks into another fruitless quest of finding even she herself doesn’t know.

But never she felt as dead as now, disconnected unable to feel anything. Does she come full circle? Is this it? Is this the end? If she could only sleep. Then, perhaps she could think clearly. But the gap between the curtains bothers her. She must stand up and close it, prevent the light from entering and crowding her thoughts. But she knows if she stands up she will not be able to go back to bed and sleep. Oh, if there is only someone who could do it for her but there is no one, no one is around. She could kill herself and nobody would know. Not for weeks, not for months. Nobody would miss her. Is that a blessing or a curse?

Ignore the gap, ignore the light, ignore the feeling of being dead, she survives so far by doing exactly that, burying the feelings deep inside eventually she becomes numb. Close your eyes and pretend like always -she said to herself- just close your eyes… 

via maggie thunder

Frantic

What will it take to make you desperate? How bad is the situation before you lost control? Did you experience being so agitated and distraught you thought you will get hysterically mad and start hurting people? Are you the kind of person who becomes easily unhinged? Or do you think you got it all together, conducting your life in an organized fashion, methodically and efficiently? Perhaps you are somewhat in the middle, some days you’re frantic other days you’re okay. Though you are not asking, I can tell you in all honesty that I go through life sensibly and quietly but once in a while I feel murderous and when I’m in this state, all bets are off. 

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