#writing depression

[killjoyang]

no seriously guys idk how to get over this major writing depression and suppression ive been having :( people tell me to just do it, do it cringe free and do it without editing but its so hard:(

[softly-speaking-valkyrie]

Oh! Hello depressive dip and self-doubt! How you doing? Haven't felt ou this bad since last year!

[daddypepex]

You must promise NOT TO HARM YOURSELF in any way. You don't see yet your immense gloriousness at this time in your life. You are like a little grain of sand that has become captive in an oyster. You are being tumbled & tumbled, rolling around at a dizzying pace in a un-formed space, that makes you feel captive, fearful, alone, lost, nothing to hold on to. Just rotated by world & others who seem so much more or less than you. Keep your strength tucked in & roll with it. This tumbling, this movement, these scrapes & bruises are from being a splendid spirit in a world that is blinded by such beauty. Like staring at an eclipse of the sun can blind. You can't see yourself fully, only glimpses because you aren't finished yet. So no one can truly see you either & shouldn't. The reflection in others eyes isn't real, only an image of a you they think they see. As you move with the flow of life, the fresh water pulled into the oyster, it turns & turns you into a pearl of such magnificence that the world will never recover if you were not in it. You are a treasure Lovely One.

[imagineality-blog]

#1

Sometimes I become less of a person to myself. Sometimes I become an embodiment of feelings so chaotic and misty. On days like that, my bed becomes the hearth of Hestia. When that does not help, well, nothing does. I am not broken or weak. I am just not ready to face the world today. I am not ready to realize once again that, while everything and everyone else is moving in the speed of light, my steps are not fast enough to reach anywhere.

[all-she-can-be-is-true]

Puppeteer

...My chest felt heavy, like I was walking naked faced in a decimation of a poisonous gas... Every breath I painfully struggled to inhale just worsened that agonizing sensation that was digging its way through my body. I felt a sharp rock lodged in my spine like the devil himself ripped it out of me in my slumber, tied it in a knot and forced it back in. Weak kneed and lungs failing I went on day by day faking it when really, I wanted to fall to my knees and cry to the Moon. To everyone I breath fine, healthy lungs, straight posture, enlightening thoughts, happy smiles. But they don’t know the half of it. Every day I had no will to get out of bed, I still don’t. But one morning my lungs cut me off from oxygen, my back was stinging, the joints in my body ached, my ears ringing a deafening noise and my vision went blurry. And just when I’m about to die his demons stuck strings through my hands and feet. One string for my head, to nod when people ask if I’m okay. Two strings for my eyes so I constantly see what harmful things he makes me do. Three for my mouth, so I don’t call out for help he tightly sewed my lips together, he occasionally snips them undone, with his defiled claws, to make me spit slanders that push people to the breaking point, and in the end only to sew it shut again. And the other two strings? To keep me smiling while he does so. Four strings for my heart, to keep it beating slow. And five for my brain; he screwed holes in my skull not caring if he damaged me and threaded the strings in my helpless brain with his trusty needle. At night he keeps me up, plucking the strings he manipulates me with to form a song that makes me sick. I don't know whether to love or despise what he does to me, because without him I wouldn't be alive. Is it better to feel pain and be alive or to feel nothing at all and be dead? I do, I say, I think, whatever he wants me to; I’m his puppet. Every day he controls me. So today, he wants me to talk, and tell you what he can do to you. Because tomorrow, he wants me dead and he wants someone new.

[aishitaeru]

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