” There’s somethings no six-year-old boy in the world should have to be told, but the way things should be and the way things are hardly ever get together. The world’s a hard place, Danny. It don’t care. It don’t hate you and me, but it don’t love us, either. Terrible things happen in the world, and they’re things no one can explain. Good people die in bad, painful ways and leave the folks that love them all alone. Sometimes it seems like it’s only the bad people who stay healthy and proper…”


Stephen King – The Shining.

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Something I’ve been trying to write but never managed to finish… It’s the silent emptiness of despair that’s filling my universe. I live in denial, I act normally most of the time, eventhough I deeply know that nothing is even close to normal, and normal is a very relative term. It could be normal, but it’s not. Something isn’t right and I know it. I’ve tried to run away, to evade, to disappear, to vanish, but I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. I am more convinced than ever that I can change many, many things, but I can’t change myself. I can’t pretend, I can’t evade, and I can’t change what I am.

This could be depression, a very severe and advanced state of sadness, so deep that it blackened my surroundings and narrowed my universe to the point of chocking me to death. Not exactly death, but to a rather long term torture where I can’t even beg for death because I’m scared it could be worse. It could really be worse.

I can’t put an end to all this, because I am strained, but neither can I silently watch. I tried to escape and “live my life” only to come back more messed up than before. I see them every single night in my dreams, they’re alive, and their eyes are distant, expressionless. They lost interest in life, death, and the promised heaven after death. I can’t hide, not in a nightmare where I am the center of attention. I can’t hide from their inevitable reproachful starring eyes, but only it’s much more intimidating than that. It’s a hopeless look without the faintest trace of interest. Truth I’ve been trying to escape my entire life. It creeps, and it fills me with unbearable sadness and pain. It’s living in my subconscious, nurtured by my desperate impotence, by my fear. Fear is the right word. It’s the painful word I’ve been looking for all this time.

There’s no end to this, I am sentenced to this. I can’t change that. It’s either the suffocating endless hours of conscience pain, or the hollow emptiness agony of denial. Either fear of the aftermath of denial, or fear of the painful reality of any reckless desperate reaction. Either way, it’s a constant self-loathing state of disgust.