Archive for dark

I’m one among too many.

Posted in Art, anxiety, dark, depression, people, personal with tags , , , , , on July 31, 2009 by imaginaryfears

 

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If I had it in my control, I would erase the world along with the whole universe. My trying has no strength. I’ve been waiting forever just to see that nothing can be done—nothing will move. I could yell all I want and plead for how desperate I am, but to this world and these people, my words are just more to add to the noise of every other number out there, pleading as I am. We’re nobody to each other.

I can’t go through another year of dreading the days I wake up to. I don’t think I was meant to make it on my own in this life. Where’s my motivation, after all? Why am I more afraid of the future years I might have and not so scared to cut them short, or even to try to?

Yesterday while at the store my mother and I went to pick up an air mattress and a pillow and I didn’t think we’d need a cart, but with my mother being the way she is, we went into the checkout line with both of our hands full of needed things. Well, there was this woman there with a cart. She worked there and saw how full my arms had been, struggling to hold a huge box, a giant pillow and how my mother had packs of paper towels and cans stacked around her feet. The worker refused to lend us the cart she had when we asked. Instead she told us “I can’t give up my cart, but there right over there” nodding at the direction. Then she placed one small toy in her cart that another customer decided they didn’t want, and walked off.—I can’t even express how angry I was after witnessing that. I’d just returned from walking the whole food section looking for meat that wasn’t even carried (with the box and pillow still in my arms) and someone who works at the store goes and does something like that to us…She could have given us her cart and walked “right over there” to get another one for herself. I’m just glad another employee saw it happen.   

It was really just more proof for why I’d rather stay away from everyone—because just one prick can make the whole day feel like a disappointment. But what I was most aware of, even before the cart thing happened, was how a dark mood completely fell over me while walking through the store. I pretty much looked through everyone I passed as if they weren’t even there, but the irritation was building. By the time we walked out I was sure I would go home and take the anger out on myself, but it didn’t get that far. Yet right now I’m sitting here wishing it had.

Maybe it’s my body trying to adjust to the 200mg I took the night before, or maybe my not eating enough and trying to calm my hunger with drinking water the entire day; the entire week actually. I might just be trying to trade in one kind of emptiness for another. I’d rather feel hungry physically than feel empty or numb emotionally and have no control over when it goes away.        

….I’ve talked too long here haven’t I….

The painting above is supposed to be an angel with torn, bloody wings. Well, maybe it’s not an angel, but that was the idea. It had to be dark and I tried my best to make it look a little creepy as well. There’s another version of this on my art page (it’s the first image).

Feels Like Doom

Posted in Death, Life, Thoughts, dark, personal with tags , , , , on April 29, 2009 by imaginaryfears

  I went to urgent care today to see about an odd rash I’ve had on my arms for more than two weeks now. I first thought it was just stress, but it still hasn’t gone away. It’s one of those itchy rashes too, but I don’t think it’s from a bug bite. It started at the end of class one day when I was really anxious, which is when I noticed I was scratching my arms terribly, with the skin starting to break. So I went and got a percription to hopefully help.

Clinicals start on friday for me and four others from my class. I know what nursing unit I’ll be on and the name of the woman training me, but the rest feels so up in the air. I’m terrified. I told my therapist last week that this coming friday feels like doom to me; like I am at the top of a cliff, and once friday comes around I’m going to just be pushed off, expected to fly without wings.  I’ve been losing sleep, and no doubt Thursday night my eyes will stay wide open all night from this anxiety.

I haven’t been doing much of anything as far as my art projects go. There’s a drawing waiting for paint but I haven’t been feeling committed enough to get that done. I just want the month of May to be over with–to fly by like April seemed to. Because then, it’ll be after I’ve gotten my certificate and I won’t be as stressed out as I have been about it. Ten days of clinicals to suffer through and I’m done. And hey, I’m open to the possibility that I may even like what I’ll be doing, but that’s not my main goal. I don’t honestly care if I like it anymore, I have to get through this. When you begin to taste the end of something, the thought becomes all consuming.

At the end of friday I’ll have a lot more to talk about.

Might as well let it go, with no shame.

Posted in Death, Thoughts, anxiety, dark, depression, suicide with tags , , , , , on March 24, 2009 by imaginaryfears

   I have another appointment tomorrow with my therapist. Now feels like the time to tell the truth. I’m getting up everyday feeling as if it’s all being done for everyone else. I put on a face for others, I pretend I have a plan- for others, I’m even acting like I want to get a job and be completely out on my own. It’s all a big lie. I don’t want tomorrow to come. Sometimes I’ll be staring off in a daze of disbelief that I actually have to endure more hours, more days.

 

I don’t really want to bother with making life goals, or with trying to survive as a part if this society. I want to disappear from it. It’s been clear that the few things I have a bit of care for aren’t enough to keep me motivated when I feel like giving up.

 

I started posting on a social anxiety support forum, the only thing about it is that we are not allowed to discuss suicide (feelings, thoughts, none of that) and so I’m thinking about leaving that site now. I’ve only been there for what-three days, but I figure if I can’t even talk about what’s constantly on my mind, what use it is to me?

 

Who cares anyway; we’ll never be fixed. The emptiness and cold has gotten to me, and today just feels like one where I wish the world would just end already.

 

 

Stuck

Posted in Death, Life, Thoughts, dark, personal, poems, poetry with tags , , , , , , on February 16, 2009 by imaginaryfears

       New sketches and a new poem I just finished editing. The drawings are of no one in particular, and I know they’re not done very well but I was bored and decided to recreate photos I saw, adding in little details here and there.  

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Stuck

 

Sun, blue sky, no matter

You disappear to me

In seconds sliding right along

Of painful constancy

 

I contemplate alone

In days of bleak identity

Drained of meaning never known

My life, a bloodless beat  

 

Distant, repeated sequence of notes

Flavorless and told

Tightened breath of an unfinished song

We are not able to move on

 

Reborn tries I suffocate

I’d die before I’d change,

Like nails stuck fast through each eye,

I cannot look away, from the end

 

Shades of a Shadow

Posted in Life, Thoughts, dark, depression, personal, poems, poetry with tags , , , , , , on February 4, 2009 by imaginaryfears

  

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     Well, I went to my doctor’s appointment finally. The paper I needed signed wasn’t filled out because of some records they didn’t have yet, but I did get a refill prescription, and did so without mentioning I’d stopped taking it for a few months as I have. I don’t really have a reason for why I stopped taking the pills, except remembering what terrible state of mind I was in at the time. I left school and felt I deserved the worst for myself. The medication wasn’t working anymore for me as it was also. I wanted to stop therapy and seeing these doctors too. I made a mess with how much I was lying about, it was a waste of time. Maybe now, with at least a new opportunity, I’ll stay balanced enough to honestly try here with this training program. Even if it is destined to crash and burn.  I’ve noticed though, that normal talk with people makes me feel very vulnerable. Besides the usual hello and goodbye words, I can’t go into much with talking about my life because I get the sensation that I’m going to cry. I hate it.

I have been writing a lot of new stuff actually. I didn’t want to, but it gets to a point where I need to, and it’s working out better than usual. So, below is a long poem type thing I stated back in the summer and have finally finished within the last two weeks. It’s strangely put, but I tried to give my shadow  some kind of worth, as if it’s something that convinces me like nothing else to do things. I divided it into three small parts here  for no other reason than of how different the beginning and end sound from the center part. If anyone does care to read it, just ignore the line breaks from one line to the next, hopefully then it’ll make a little more sense.

Shades of a Shadow

 

‘It gets worse. It only gets worse’, I say

Its blurring blacks can only do so much for me.

All distractions can only do so much.

Sad songs just don’t cut the way they used to.

And the reckless hits simply submit to my numbness.

                                   

***

 

But then to hurt so badly, as being brought to one’s knees…

I am given shadowed ground, and my pain, heard screams

In every moment I muse of escape

The kind that longs in honesty and wants no second chance

The costly mistakes that put a blade into my hands

 

That regretful sigh once mother realized

I was worthless; I was kept apart; my mind, a grim cloud,

In visions of cold nothingness, the dark of which I came

Smothered in unimportance, I was always meant to be

I cheat them all; I’m sorry for each continued breath, but

 

Gloom and I agree, it’s been all for my due suffering,

The shadow hovers above, wise whispers on repeat,

Keeping light and hope my enemies, I’m far upon the brink

But always never quite there; given eyes of a saner shade,

Chained to life’s sacredness for one more day

 

***

 

It studies teardrops glistening, then carves

A gift for me, of weeks of care and cradling

Where long after the goring, emerge quiet whites of moon,

The permanent tattoos in full view, of which

Few ever do understand.

Poem titled “Leave Me”

Posted in Art, Life, Thoughts, dark, numbness, pain, personal, poems, poetry, social anxiety with tags , , , , , , , , on September 29, 2008 by imaginaryfears

 

Cheap in my silence

Unraveled and desire-less

My hopeless despondence

Existence of somnolence

 

Dreams of a sickened mind

Where all is blood and death

When pain keeps the soul alive

I yearn, the safe of darkness

 

A dearly met impulsive sting

For a moments honest peace

Leave me in this daze.

Leave me spilled beneath my blade.

 

 

The art page/slide is updated now: fifty five images total, not including the one above yet.   

 

I think it’s got to be more than just social anxiety now. I’ve gotten too comfortable with avoidance and I don’t think I can change how I feel about it. Avoiding social interaction just keeps the pain and distress low. I like being alone over being around others, but I know as well as anyone else that it can not be this way forever. Anyway, I’ve gone numb and it’s hard to write again. How many pathetic times will I say that….

 

The Bleed

Posted in Art, Death, Life, Thoughts, personal, poems, poetry, suicide with tags , , , , , , , , , , on July 12, 2008 by imaginaryfears

I polished this a little bit more and thought it right to re-post it now. It is all a true story, one no one in my life knows about, and one I don’t ever intend to explain to them, because of how difficult it would be to honeslty understand where I am coming from without being sickened or afraid. I could be wrong, but I just don’t think they’re ready for something like it, and I am not ready myself to have the words leave me.

At a selfish hour, with rightly selfish thoughts

Lines so overwhelmed in agony are taught

To be my shock from a pleading secrecy

To scream; to justify the pain and the release.

 

Generous moonlight, illuminated tears

I hide my twitching sanity in sheer.

A lasting sorrow with night only to care

It’s the leaning, slit, the drip and stare.  

 

Reap, to rid my eyes of their breathing hue.

The nightmarish things I put my soul through

Dangerous hope with razor hostility

The longing, the depth in red defeat.

 

There’s a throbbing chill, I’ve practiced this before.

Dark dream, reality, the feeling I’ve prayed for

The shadows wade low, grieving what they see,

Swallowing the sight of a desperate bleed.

 

 

 

Shadow

Posted in Art, Death, Life, Thoughts, fear, personal, poems with tags , , , , , , , on June 25, 2008 by imaginaryfears

      I refer a lot to the shadow archetype in a good amount of poems I’ve written down, the way I understand it, as the dark side of who a person is. The darker side of their actions, the desires they would rather follow through with even if it is something they are aware is wrong. In this poem I just personify my shadow as being in a sort of love affair with me and what I want. I describe it in a way as tempting me to go beyond apprehension and act on what I am feeling, ignoring any doubts and hesitation. It’s a very odd thing I think, really, but if you read it closely, you’ll understand what I am talking about a little better, hopefully. I am the last person who will or should write about real romantic relationships, simply because I’ve never had one worth talking about, but I tried to write this from what I do know, trying to connect with a different kind of relationship that is hard sometimes for others to understand I guess. 

One tear

Wrung from the insincere

He comes close and whispers calmly in my ear

The soul of shadow caressing my neck

His devious therapy

Sensations of death

 

He grips me and treats me

To sorrows, to feeling

A healing of emotional devotion to the cause

Darkness entwines

All doubt withdraws

 

His eyes are love and lifeless

A seduction, promising me pain

Commanding my passions to follow his escape

I am the irrational, he is the urge

The quenching drink to satisfy this sable thirst

 

He is the edge, the provocative hush

The sweat between the seconds, the unwavering thrust

His warm lips; His sweet lacerating kiss

His severe encouragement…

The death would not resist.

  

 

 

In Dark, In Sleep

Posted in Art, Life, poems, poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , on May 22, 2008 by imaginaryfears

 

 

The dark, the blind and vulnerable

I am where subconscious urges roam

 

In fluid dreams; their disconnect

They speak of all things alien

 

In sleep, sorrowful memories

A fixed unease roots from the crease

 

My threaded thoughts fray unstrung

My secure world becomes undone

 

 

A simple one that started out apart of another poem I am working on. This section I thought was better on its own.