sad

An awfulness was deep inside me, and I couldn't fight it; forced into submission and taken hostage by it, I could only just lie there, let it wash over me, and let myself be consumed by it. If I cooperate, maybe it won't stay too long; maybe it'll let me go free. But if I fight it, it might stay longer just to spite me. So I decided to let The Feeling inhabit me as long as it desired, while I lay still, cautious not to incite me, secretly hoping it would leave me soon and bother someone else, but outwardly, pretending to be its gracious host. The most discouraging element of what I felt was my inability to understand it. Usually when I was filled with an unpleasant feeling, I could make it go away, or at least tame it, by watching a light-hearted film or reading a good book or listening to a feel good album. But this feeling was different. I knew non of those distractions could rid me of it. But I knew nothing else. I couldn't even describe it. Is this depression? Maybe once you ask someone to describe depression, he can't find the words. Maybe I'm part of the official club now. I imagined myself in a room full of people where someone in the crowd, also suffering from depression, immediately noticed me-as if he detected the scent of his own kind-walked over, and looked into my eyes. He knew that I had The Feeling inside me because he, too, da The Feeling inside him. He didn't ask me to talk about it, because he understood that our type of suffering was ineffable. He only nodded at me, and I nodded back; and then, during our moment of silence, we both shared a sad smile of recognition, knowing that we only had each other in a room filled with people who would never understand us, because they didn't have The Feeling inside them.

No one can hurt me now 'cause i have stopped permitting them.

She had a sense of herself being brain dead: running on tubes and machines.

You are rotting away, you are falling to pieces. What are you? A bag of filth. Now turn around and look into that mirror again. Do you see that thing facing you? That is the last man. If you are human, that is humanity. Now put your clothes on again.

Every morning I sit at the kitchen table over a tall glass of water swallowing pills. (So my hands won__ shake.) (So my heart won__ race.) (So my face won__ thaw.) (So my blood won__ mold.) (So the voices won__ scream.) (So I don__ reach for knives.) (So I keep out of the oven.) (So I eat every morsel.) (So the wine goes bitter.) (So I remember the laundry.) (So I remember to call.) (So I remember the name of each pill.) (So I remember the name of each sickness.) (So I keep my hands inside my hands.) (So the city won__ rattle.) (So I don__ weep on the bus.) (So I don__ wander the guardrail.) (So the flashbacks go quiet.) (So the insomnia sleeps.) (So I don__ jump at car horns.) (So I don__ jump at cat-calls.) (So I don__ jump a bridge.) (So I don__ twitch.) (So I don__ riot.) (So I don__ slit a strange man__ throat.)

It is a very sad thing that nowadays there is so little useless information.

How did I not see it? Pain is everywhere. I'm just another sorry story. All these people wearing smiles, dragging themselves around--do they all know already? Do they realize how fast the world can change?

Once you hit rock bottom, that's where you perfectly stand; That's your chance of restarting, but restarting the right way.

I would if somebody would want to but of course nobody would want to so I wouldn't want to force anybody to want to.

I want to celebrate the sadness that makes you feel everything so deeply. I want to throw a party for the wounds that make you so unabashedly human.

You make me want things that I can't have.

It's too short,' she said, 'ever so much too short.' Never did anybody look so sad. Bitter and black, half-way down, in the darkness, in the shaft which ran from the sunlight to the depths, perhaps a tear formed; a tear fell; the waters swayed this way and that, received it, and were at rest. Never did anybody look so sad.

Sometimes I can feel my darkness, like a fragment of nerves inside of me somewhere, sparking my hate. I picture it moving throughout my body, the other cells letting it pass by, yielding to its master. It moves to my tongue when it wants me to spew beautiful, damaging words, it moves to my hands when it wants me to feel all it can take away, and it moves to my eyes to blind me from truly seeing the destruction I__e done.

She could have risen from the ashes. Instead, she smoldered in the embers.

And with that, I__ going to crawl into bed and try to erase all that has happened today.

It's hard to answer the question "what's wrong?" when nothing is right.

Why not risk your life, if you don't want to live anyway? Why not risk your life if you'll never be happy no matter what you do?

The pain will always be in you____ut you will not always be in pain.