A Few Good Reasons to Feed the Demon in the Room by ProjectHYPOCRISY, literature
Literature
A Few Good Reasons to Feed the Demon in the Room
It’s a Friday night. The kind of Friday night filled with loneliness and drunken posts on your Instagram feed. You decide there’s nothing worse than dying lonely AND hungry, so you put the fifth of whiskey to the ground and head to the kitchen to make a quick snack. You remember this YouTube video where someone, clearly partaking in the Devil’s Lettuce, fried up some Mac n’ Cheese in a ball. You have some Mac congealed to the bottom of a plastic container, vaguely smelling a bit off. You also have some oil sitting in a pan already -one less step, you tell yourself. It was from when you were frying up some hotdogs, so y
The incessant whispering, murmuring, half heard insults, always coming from behind me, yet no one is there when I try to see who it is. The other voice, the one who narrates my life, pointing out my failures and shortcoming, seems to enjoy exclaiming how I am too slow, too stupid, too useless, to be able to figure things out and catch the whisperer. The final voice just continues to be itself, providing the background stream of insults, derogatory observations, yet today it seems to be really pushing how hopeless and useless I am. Day after day, week after week, they continue with little respite, sleep is no longer needed every day, just shor
[Pers] Social Fatigue (My first journal ever) by Jack-the-Shinigami, journal
[Pers] Social Fatigue (My first journal ever)
Social Fatigue – and how it affects me
(My first journal ever)
So… this is kinda difficult.
I think a lot of people are waiting for mail from me. And I’d really want to write you, because I like all of you.
So I’m gonna try and explain why I don’t manage to simply do so...
I’m not gonna write about social fatigue in general and neither is this going to be professional.
I’m just gonna write about how it affects me, because it affects me a lot.
Still, there might be others, who have the same problem and share my experiences.
Feel free, to add any knowledge and personal impressions about thi
I want to vanish.
Because I‘m tired.
I feel like I‘ve been on a long goalless walk for years now,
Without ever finding a place save enough to settle down.
I’m restless. I always sleep with one eye open at night.
I can’t find a place to call home.
I don’t even know what “home” is supposed to feel like.
I never learned about that.
I’m so tired.
Sometimes I wish I was like Grimm’s “Sleeping Beauty”.
Falling asleep for a thousand years, in a big safe castle.
With walls so massive and all around strong branches of thorns so high;
Protecting me from every outside influence, onl
Everyone has their bad days, right?
I have quite a few, but so do my parents, and my friends.
I may have rough days at school.
But I acknowledge that so do my friends.
I have rough days at work.
But I acknowledge that so do my parents.
They will come home, sighing and grumbling, from a bad day,
And they will tell me what happened.
And, of course, I will listen.
But when I come home, sighing,
(sometimes whining and groaning) over a bad day at school,
I long for someone to talk to about it.
But often, when I try to,
All I get is:
“It’s Not All About You!”
I wish I had someone to talk to about my bad day at work
Not Maybe, But Definitely by H-Everybody-Lies--MD, literature
Literature
Not Maybe, But Definitely
The world has gone on long enough
Treating the mentally ill awful and rough.
From mocking our symptoms
To dismissing us as self-proclaimed victims.
We huddle in our corners
Isolated and grieving like mourners.
Cut off from the world
Our damaged souls frayed and furled.
We want to come out
And shout all about
“Look at me! Look at me!
I exist, don’t you see?”
Why do you choose
To turn your back on us like we are an unlit fuse?
“Can’t you see? Can’t you see?
All that you are doing to me?”
Your eyes are glued to the skies
The clouds not parting, muffling our cries.
“How can’t
"Life's not fair". I've heard that from birth. People always told me that there was nothing I could do to change the hand I'd been dealt. No way for me to change my fate. All my life, I've tried to prove them wrong. To show that I could make my life better. But sometimes it feels like no matter how hard I try, I can never get anywhere new.
Sometimes I feel like I'm just a child, lost in a world I can't understand. I feel like no one cares if I find my way, or if I stumble and fall in the darkness. Sometimes I feel as if an ever looming shadow mocks my steps, following me, just waiting for me to take one fatal turn in the wrong direct
I need to evict the man who lives in my extra room. He would stare at me as I passed the open door, seemingly puzzled by my existence. I refused to look in his direction but I could feel his soulless gaze tracking my quick shuffle as I made my way into my own bedroom. He was quiet and kept to himself. He didn’t bother me much. In fact, every time I saw him in the living room, he would slip out of view, avoiding the endless chatter I produced. I’m not one to accuse, but I’m sure he was a pervert of some kind. In fact, I was sure but I had little evidence. I kept the bathroom door open a crack to let the steam run out from my