Dearly Damaged Daniel
What do I have to do to make all of this stop?
I'm being bombarded from every angle by this sick, twisted suicidal depression.
Nothing catches my attention anymore. Everything is just one emptiness endeavour after
Nothing catches my attention anymore. Everything is just one emptiness endeavour after
another. I see the colours fading once again as I'm drawn into the murky waters of depression.
These thoughts of worthlessness and self-hatred are like sludge in my veins and time doesn't seem
to be moving at all. I wish that I could return to the coldness that consumed me in the end of January. It lasted almost two months and turning that time I flourished.
Now I feel everything magnified by 10 and it all can't be contained within me. I feel the sorrow and anger churning together, bubbling to the surface of my veins. My stomach knots and threatens to reject anything I attempt to put in it.
Now I feel everything magnified by 10 and it all can't be contained within me. I feel the sorrow and anger churning together, bubbling to the surface of my veins. My stomach knots and threatens to reject anything I attempt to put in it.
I just got on the bus.
I needed to run.
Clear the thoughts that were threatening to slowly suffocate me.
I needed to run.
Clear the thoughts that were threatening to slowly suffocate me.
Everything just slipped away as I sat on that bus to nowhere.
I road through the streets and freeways that connected Orlando and Kissimmee
all afternoon, yet I couldn't void you from my thoughts.
You dominated and took control once again, despite my attempts to fight you off.
I don't know why I allowed myself to be completely conquered yet again.
His essence is etched into every aspect of me.
Yet again I allowed the art of seduction to take me away,
willing & wishing that it would be the beauty that I dreamt it to be.
....
You dominated and took control once again, despite my attempts to fight you off.
I don't know why I allowed myself to be completely conquered yet again.
His essence is etched into every aspect of me.
Yet again I allowed the art of seduction to take me away,
willing & wishing that it would be the beauty that I dreamt it to be.
....
I watch memories in black and white in slow motion in my head.
The smile of the child that I once was is vaguely familiar and stirs deep feelings of
grief within me. I grieve for those moments. I grieve for that smile. I grieve for that child.
I miss those moments where I was able to believe in the beauty of life, that everything would be
okay in the end.
And just like that, I am drawn back to the days of childhood, where in the spring, in the medium length grass of spring holiday I would read Harry Potter. Hidden beneath the blooming buds and supplied with plenty of tea, I would dive into a world in which I longed to be part of. I’d run through the castles, feeling the high of the chase pouring deep in my stomach. Memorised lines would become my whispers to the air, as the ghosts of other children sat beneath me. Once I’d devoured Harry’s spells, I turned my ravenous attention to the ways of Narnia. This one was just for me. I’d twist wildflowers between my fingers, caught between the world of a child and that of an adult. I would take the role of Aslan and adventure across the wild lands of Narnia and drink in the sea breeze.
The days of my childhood are long since gone, but the flashbacks remain. Broken memories are being pieced together with the most delicate of hands. One must sort through the broken films, scan the chipped piece of old toys and study the pages of tea stained novels in an attempt to find where each pieces sense. And in a mind so jumbled, with so many booby traps and doors that lead nowhere, it’s rather a challenge. And myself. The unreliable narrator. It’s true that sometimes when I work to place these memories in chronological order, I find myself distracted by the task of is it a true memory or a piece from a book? Is it my own fabric, woven from the threads of others-images, feelings, what-have-yous. It’s the oddest feeling when you know that what you envision is something straight out of your imagination; something that exploded into your reality through the words of another, but feels completely real to you. The sounds, the slant of the light, the taste of the moment, everything feels as if it’s been lived in this body, but alas it’s not. Who’s to say that they’re not the faded remembrances of another life? A life your soul knew before entering this vessel?
I miss those moments where I was able to believe in the beauty of life, that everything would be
okay in the end.
And just like that, I am drawn back to the days of childhood, where in the spring, in the medium length grass of spring holiday I would read Harry Potter. Hidden beneath the blooming buds and supplied with plenty of tea, I would dive into a world in which I longed to be part of. I’d run through the castles, feeling the high of the chase pouring deep in my stomach. Memorised lines would become my whispers to the air, as the ghosts of other children sat beneath me. Once I’d devoured Harry’s spells, I turned my ravenous attention to the ways of Narnia. This one was just for me. I’d twist wildflowers between my fingers, caught between the world of a child and that of an adult. I would take the role of Aslan and adventure across the wild lands of Narnia and drink in the sea breeze.
The days of my childhood are long since gone, but the flashbacks remain. Broken memories are being pieced together with the most delicate of hands. One must sort through the broken films, scan the chipped piece of old toys and study the pages of tea stained novels in an attempt to find where each pieces sense. And in a mind so jumbled, with so many booby traps and doors that lead nowhere, it’s rather a challenge. And myself. The unreliable narrator. It’s true that sometimes when I work to place these memories in chronological order, I find myself distracted by the task of is it a true memory or a piece from a book? Is it my own fabric, woven from the threads of others-images, feelings, what-have-yous. It’s the oddest feeling when you know that what you envision is something straight out of your imagination; something that exploded into your reality through the words of another, but feels completely real to you. The sounds, the slant of the light, the taste of the moment, everything feels as if it’s been lived in this body, but alas it’s not. Who’s to say that they’re not the faded remembrances of another life? A life your soul knew before entering this vessel?
No one will ever know how badly I don't want to be me.
Will anything ever bloom from the tears of this suffering or will my life continue to be
endlessly barren?
I wish someone would have told me that my life would become such a twisted punishment,
a destructive, self-sustaining sin that would leave me in perpetual agony.
And there will never be an escape, I will forever be lost in this haze of rejection and failure.
If I'd known this earlier, I would have tried so much harder;
but now I am nothing but a shell.
LINKS
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/darklydreamingdaniel
Twitter: https://twitter.com/darkdreamingdan
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/anjathesickboy/
Playlist Blog coming up soon!
Will anything ever bloom from the tears of this suffering or will my life continue to be
endlessly barren?
I wish someone would have told me that my life would become such a twisted punishment,
a destructive, self-sustaining sin that would leave me in perpetual agony.
And there will never be an escape, I will forever be lost in this haze of rejection and failure.
If I'd known this earlier, I would have tried so much harder;
but now I am nothing but a shell.
LINKS
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/darklydreamingdaniel
Twitter: https://twitter.com/darkdreamingdan
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/anjathesickboy/
Playlist Blog coming up soon!
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