RussellG
Bluelighter
- Joined
- May 4, 2002
- Messages
- 355
You can't quite pinpoint it. You know it's there, pushing down on your brain from the top and sides, slight pressure that feels like a warm wet blanket, turning your thoughts into doubts. Doubts about yourself, more specifically, your physical and mental wellbeing.
I gave up on spiritual wellbeing along time ago.
You sit around, you think about crying, because you are just so sure that this is it, this time you really will snap because it's just so intense. In the end, it seems to peak, plateau for awhile, and then dissipiate. You feel mentally exhausted, yet relieved that your back to a state that you can almost bare.
When you think it's over you start getting pains in your chest, tightness, the anxiety has returned, laughing, you are gonna die bitch! At first you don't know how you'd rather feel, that you're about to die from a massive stroke or heart attack, or that you're going insane.
After awhile it's almost like a routine and you grow accustomed to these feelings, almost like going through the motions. Bearable, annoying, a dull pain, all words to describe it.
One day you're at work. Today it's crazy thoughts. Whoops, you've cut yourself with a Stanley knife. Better get a tissue or something.
Two different paths open up to you at this point.
The first path most people will take is the 'ohfucki'vecutmyself' path, and will promptly bandaid that bitch up.
Walking along the second path, you realise that everything has stopped.
The wet blanket has backed off a little. He's still there but he's just backed off a ways, giving you a little space. You don't feel pain anywhere, except that one place. That small cut on your finger has drowned everything in the whole world.
You're at home with a box of razors.
~ To be continued? ~
I may continue on with this short story. While writing that last line though I thought it ended kind of well (in a morbid sense that is
).
I think I might explore this character a little more though, who is semi based on myself.
Hope I don't actually sound crazy writing something like this
I gave up on spiritual wellbeing along time ago.
You sit around, you think about crying, because you are just so sure that this is it, this time you really will snap because it's just so intense. In the end, it seems to peak, plateau for awhile, and then dissipiate. You feel mentally exhausted, yet relieved that your back to a state that you can almost bare.
When you think it's over you start getting pains in your chest, tightness, the anxiety has returned, laughing, you are gonna die bitch! At first you don't know how you'd rather feel, that you're about to die from a massive stroke or heart attack, or that you're going insane.
After awhile it's almost like a routine and you grow accustomed to these feelings, almost like going through the motions. Bearable, annoying, a dull pain, all words to describe it.
One day you're at work. Today it's crazy thoughts. Whoops, you've cut yourself with a Stanley knife. Better get a tissue or something.
Two different paths open up to you at this point.
The first path most people will take is the 'ohfucki'vecutmyself' path, and will promptly bandaid that bitch up.
Walking along the second path, you realise that everything has stopped.
The wet blanket has backed off a little. He's still there but he's just backed off a ways, giving you a little space. You don't feel pain anywhere, except that one place. That small cut on your finger has drowned everything in the whole world.
You're at home with a box of razors.
~ To be continued? ~
I may continue on with this short story. While writing that last line though I thought it ended kind of well (in a morbid sense that is
I think I might explore this character a little more though, who is semi based on myself.
Hope I don't actually sound crazy writing something like this

