13 Deaths (2017)- full story
The story is not suitable for younger than 17 years-an extremely depressing story, it can have bad influence on sensitive people, auto-destructive parts, suicide in the main focus, disturbing and shocking scenes, mild cursing in some parts, the use of alcohol and narcotics, sarcasm and bitterness in some parts, personal perspective. Don't try anything of the above. The story is some kind of autobiography and it's subjective, it was not my intention to offend someone but to tell my morbid story, I apologize if someone gets offended by what I write, I really didn't mean to do that. It was not my goal to present myself as a victim- I don't think I am, but to from my own perspective write about the things that brought me to the end.
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10/20/2017
-DROWNED -
Outside it's dawning, but in my mind it's eternally dark.
In front of me is beautiful water that shines on the first rays of today's sun, pushing me away from itself- as if it was telling me, "Go, enjoy my beauty from a distance, don't get closer!", but I can't listen to it, with a trembling step I'm moving towards it, knowing what's coming next. I don't know how I got to this - it seems to me that I've long ago closed my eyes and can't open them anymore, everything I see in front of me is an vast darkness called my future. I can't hope , I can't feel, I can't exist. Worry has eaten my feelings and hope, it has eaten me from inside. What remained is just a breath. I don't need it either, I don't want to breathe anymore.
I looked the people of my age who from enthusiastic teenager became adults, becoming busy people, students, or even mothers and fathers. Wordlessly I watched how they make mistakes, triumphs, go in search of new discoveries, quietly ushering them with my numb eyes, while still standing in the same place. Sometimes they turn and say that I have changed too. Lie. The void doesn't change, it can only be filled with something. My void is filled only with a melody that disappears somewhere in the space, making me return to the bottom. I am looking around, but all have gone - only my reflection in the broken mirror has remained, it shows me that I am alone in all this. That's fine, I'm not worth enough to be part of someone's life. It is a great honor to be part of someone's life - mutual help, respect, feeling of belonging ... It must be nice to have someone who cares about you.
Like everything died in me then, I really don't know when this started, you suddenly realize that you don't exist anymore. Misfortune takes you - glass is no longer half-full, half-empty, it's completely empty, making you realize that nothing is important anymore, neither your life nor anything else. Everything begins to fall into an immense abyss, even you find yourself so close that you can't escape anymore. As a chain reaction, this damn sensation of nothingness pulls your whole life down; others begin to leave you, you lose the will for work, creation, life. For everything. Everything you love is destroyed or crippled under her cruel feet, but it's not enough for her. She wants YOU too.
And when I thought that this unusually long-lasting sadness was only temporary and that it would disappear soon void shouted at me: "Die, you must die!" In panic, I ran away in the farthest part of my mind, fearing that she would come, but she knew where I was. At the same time I would hear the claws scratching the door, sometimes going in and hitting my head and lungs with its fist, then coming out as if nothing had happened, leaving a dust of oblivion behind me.
I was sixteen. My pain was not enough to her, she wanted my blood this time. For the first time she took a few drops. In the meantime, a few drops became a few dozens of milliliters. At last, she took several hundred milliliters, leaving me pale as lime. And that was fine, too. Nobody needs me anymore anyway.
What once was a cheerful child for which everyone said was good, beautifully educated and sympathetic became a wraith that, under the influence of alcohol and drugs, walks through the school hallway. Pale wraith with an empty glance, eyes that don't know how to cry, although they want to. I move away my eyes from a mirror, I don't want to remember myself because I don't stay long.
Everything was around me: blood puddles, a medicine that became a poison, a stunning elixir to boost the effect of poison, scarves that brutally embraced my neck, but there were no words to inspire me, the hand of friend and the right solution. I'm so deep that no one can free me again. I am so deep, very deeply buried, to see the remains of other's bones around me, it is enough to put a gravestone on my head and declare me dead so that my existence can be finally done. No life in me, I am dead.
What is the reason for our existence? The hell would know, I don't know. Everybody has some reasons, but what is the common reason? Why is something so passable and uncertain as life so complicated? Why this all torture, if I will die anyway? Why do I do this? What if everything that I created is not good enough to exist? What if my works get destroyed? Oh dear, why am I living then, why I create? Who am I living for, if they will also die once? Is it at all worth it? .... why to think ... it's all in vain. I can no longer walk on this path of pain.
I walked away from the path, slowly approaching a moody river. It seems quiet, but it's just a mask, its interior hides the sweet bitterness of non-existence that will soon be waiting for me. Oh, how much I've dreamed this scene! I leaned over and began to collect the most beautiful stones that stood on the shore. I wanted to keep them all, so I began to fill all my pockets with them. My massive black coat suddenly became triple heavier, which was my intention. I spread my arms and went to embrace the river, I knew that she was delighted to see me and that I'll become part of her. She may have told me, however, that I shouldn't approach her too close, but it was too late. She dragged me into the vortex and I felt all her weight on my lungs. Although I had felt a constant weight on my lungs all these years, which quietly destroyed me, this was still unbearable. The more I moved, more water I inhaled, which was one step closer to death. Pain, pain, pain! And then everything went silent. My thoughts are gone. Pain is gone. I don't exist anymore.
The stones pulled me deeper, where the mud dances like a sea grass on the river bed. The river's plants wanted to see what a new creature was among them, so they slowly came in and greeted with my hair, gently overlapping it, while the fish rushed furiously, returning when they made sure I don't move.
The noon. The fisherman throws his net, hoping for a good catch and then extracts 2-3 of the larger salmons. "Today I have incredible luck!" - thought, then cast the net once again. His next catch wasn't a river creature, but a person drowned in her own suffering. The shocked fisherman pulled my body to the surface, quietly cried for another young person killed by suffering that void created. He returned the boat to the shore and went for help, leaving my body covered with algaes on the shore.
-CRUSHED-
I'm sick of all of them! This is a drop that poured that goddamn glass full of my blood, sweat and effort over these creatures! Ha, they will recover, of course they will, I'm just a small, insignificant pawn, but I won't recover from them, I never did and never will. Of course, you always blamed those who give their best to please you. Go to hell. (I'm drinking another sip of alcohol while driving on an empty highway)
Why should I, a chronic loner who avoids people, worry about them at all? Why am I afraid to say what I mean and what hurts me? Damn it, I'm taught to keep silent and not insult others, but now I want to tell all of them to go to hell. Unfortunately, my moral boundary keeps me from the curses that are vulgar, these curses would only be able to show how much this hurts me. I am tired of this feeling of guilt- it seems that what was supposed to be your part of guilt was left with me, so now I'm pulling your pieces of this bloody cake too. The blood is only mine, of course, I'm "crazy" enough (your word) to let that blood down. Eh, it seems that my flaws make me less valuable for you,immaculates; you are the saints and I am either Pilate or a beggar who kisses your purified robe, while you bless everyone around you with your arms, pushing me aside so the crowd, God forbid, don't see this disgusting creature next to you. Oh, yes, I am a bitter creature whose all bones in the body have cracked from embrace of your ignorance, insensitivity, fear of your anger and hurting of your feelings, since my were broken for a hundred times as your would have been in my place. I don't claim that I am a saint - we have already established that you are that, but I know that I deserved at least some friend beside myself. Maybe I would have someone if some of you didn't turn me into someone who doesn't trust anyone. Each time it ends the same, you throw me away as a cloth.
By the age of five I had 45 friends- hey, that's more than average five-year-old! All right, they were all dolls, not even one child. In their defense, they were the best friends in my whole life, today they are still with me though we don't see often, although I'm glad to meet them while I'm fumbling around my boxes. I hanged out with them and we spent hours together, they loved me the way I was and I loved them back - I didn't care if a certain barbie was blonde or has darker hair, whether it's new or old, if I dressed it nicely, all of them were equally beautiful to me and I admired them.
The term "friend" got meaning in kindergarten - there were many of these friends, but one black-haired boy (the name doesn't matter to the story, maybe even he would be ashamed of me today) became closer to me than anyone else. We would sit on the floor, at different ends of the room, sending the car toys to each other until the time went by. This game lasted for months, I thought it was great to have such a buddy, younger than me only one day, but then the damn end came. That stupid end is always pulling in somewhere, isn't it? There was a time to enroll in school. Dude, I hate this part.
In front of this freaken place I have encountered that person who would get under my skin so much that even a terrible cut wouldn't help me scratch her away. Well, for that I would have to slit my own artery so that her toxicity would disappear with blood, but this alcohol, which is pretty much in my body, can serve to forget her for a moment.
Rule number one in my life: Don't believe people who smile often and they seem like they don't do it from the heart but somehow fake - they often hold a knife in their hands to slit your neck, just when you think everything is fine. What's a pity it is just a metaphor, memory hurts more than death. The lucky thing in the accident is that the man invented alcohol so the memories are less painful. Anyway, that creature whose smile showed all the teeth, that naive look that hides hidden intent and confusing personality weren't attracting me at all. Not only me, nobody tolerated it, now I realize that they were smarter than me about it. They had a club against her, that's how much they disliked her. By itself, she left the impression of not so naïve person, even though her eyes gave this impression- maybe it seemed to me, although I'm damn good in reading people. Damn it, I'm a weakling to the core, I'm silent and suffer rather than being an equal member of society.
After two years she completely annoyed me, I realized that it wasn't a person she pretended to be and I didn't want to have anything to do with her, but I was forced to hang out with her. Little by little she got into my life, the hell with both of us, especially because the mutual home visits were more frequent. Tolstoy said: "All happy families look like each other." Wise words, he was the personification of literature's intelligence, so this time he was right again. Apart from all, their family worked synchronized, even though they had some problems that person talked about all the time, so much that every feeling of empathy for them was lost inside me. I didn't tell her about what was happening to me, but I had to hear EVERYTHING that happened to her. I tolerate a lot but, if someone for a thousandth time tells me what I know, what I've heard many times and whose witness I was, then I really want to send him to hell. All in vain... I've already got into my goddamn circle. The girl with whom I had good connection before it began to bully me, the class was hating me and laughed at me for everything. For a years I wondered why, and then I remembered when it started and got it - it seems they hated me because of her.
After two years she completely annoyed me, I realized that it wasn't a person she pretended to be and I didn't want to have anything to do with her, but I was forced to hang out with her. Little by little she got into my life, the hell with both of us, especially because the mutual home visits were more frequent. Tolstoy said: "All happy families look like each other." Wise words, he was the personification of literature's intelligence, so this time he was right again. Apart from all, their family worked synchronized, even though they had some problems that person talked about all the time, so much that every feeling of empathy for them was lost inside me. I didn't tell her about what was happening to me, but I had to hear EVERYTHING that happened to her. I tolerate a lot but, if someone for a thousandth time tells me what I know, what I've heard many times and whose witness I was, then I really want to send him to hell. All in vain... I've already got into my goddamn circle. The girl with whom I had good connection before it began to bully me, the class was hating me and laughed at me for everything. For a years I wondered why, and then I remembered when it started and got it - it seems they hated me because of her.
She didn't care, she had a company at home, but I was alone and it hurt me for the rest of my life. She told my secrets to others, I stopped believing people because of it. I didn't even tell anyone a secret where I went with a car in the middle of the night with a bottle of alcohol on the passenger's seat, it's not that somebody cares that I want to die tonight. I'm sure they have a better things to do, I've always been someone who is just goofing around.
It's one of the reasons she hung out with me, that sense of humor. It's fascinating how I can even be witty at all while hating myself and wanting to disappear. Little sad clown, that is what I was for her. It doesn't matter, just let them rejoice, who cares about your feelings! Fun, hell yeah. When I remember everything, I want to curl on the couch and cry.
Too late they admit that I was right and that she was neither naive nor stupid ... They passed without injuries and the mental scars of silence about everything that happened and listening to selfish monologues remained in me. For her, my self-harming and anorexia were a joke (I am funny one, remember?), an opportunity for her to keep preaching about other cases she knows. Good morning, Miss, do you see what happens to the person you allegedly called the best friend? You think I'm interested in what you heard from others, what happened to someone you might not know? I worried for you when you went to the surgery and waited for you to come back, were my problems so much more meaningless than yours? I will never forget when she, in the midst of my starvation and weakness, with the biggest smile on her face said that my crush has a girlfriend, knowing that it would hurt me. I also won't forget that underestimating glance during the religious education's class when the professor said that the suicide is the biggest sin ... excuse me that I'm not immaculate as you, I don't need that someone blames me for that. I didn't chose this chaos in my head.
The last time I met her at the graduation ceremony, there was no farewell but more talking about what was happening to her. What she said wasn't something very important, as if she met some acquaintance in the street to talk a little about the current events, not to say farewell to the person she knows from the first grade. She called me again before the end of September, most likely to boast how she went to college, but I didn't want to listen to her and confess to her why I couldn't go even though I was a great student. I dropped the phone. I had a lot of problems and without it.
Twelve toxic years with her changed me, but I was still just an ordinary living creature who tried to find someone who would understand her. The person who was also in my childhood went to another school, then to college, we completely separated. Because of her good will everyone wanted to be her friend so I didn't have a chance. After all these failures and victories, but mostly the failures, I got completely disappointed in myself and others. I'm afraid, I don't know whom to trust, just when I think someone understands me it turns out that they didn't believe me. Then the glass was already full.
I found a person that I thought was my friend, that she trusts me. I offered her help although I knew that I was also in a bad situation, I tried to get everything done properly but someone else's suspicion ruined everything. I know I shouldn't feel guilty because I did it under some kind of pressure, but I am such a person, always feel guilty even when I'm not. For honesty I got the answer that showed me that she never believed me when I told her my deepest thoughts. She crossed me over within five minutes, leaving me lost for days. I just wish this didn't happen because of some third person, but she didn't even care what happened. I hate when problems can be resolved with a conversation and that the other person doesn't want to cooperate, because such things occupy me for days and I try to solve them. No problem, for them I am just someone who acts crazy.
I know that there might be a friend for me on this planet but I'm tired of everything, I can't go through it all over again, wondering what I did wrong, trying my best to tame my tough personality. In people I started to see someone who is able to break you, I don't know if I'm really so sensitive or people really don't think about some things that can hurt others. I can't... after that I just feel guilty and think I upset the person, so I hate myself afterwards. I'm used to solitude, it's easier.
I leave the last post on the social network, clearly to say that I won't annoy anyone anymore. They don't even realize that it was a farewell status- they are liking and not really getting it. No problem, they will change the story tomorrow. Perhaps better they didn't realize, I'll end up with this easier when no one bothers me. Tonight I'm with the only friend who has been with me for years and helped me in the most difficult situations. One sip for one, the other for another friend, half a bottle for the rest. My dear friend calmed me down, I think I'm going to sleep a little .... I'm so tired, I'll just close my eyes and wait.
On the following day the news published the information: "A female person died during the night when the car moved from the road and felt from a cliff. The persons got severe bodily injuries, skull fractures, bone fractures and internal bleeding. The cause of the accident was the consumption of alcohol."
No, my dear, the causes were made a long time ago, the alcohol just helped me to cross over to the other side. Too bad only that they would never know it, but they would think it was an accident, not a conscious turning into an abyss in the last moment of consciousness ....
-CUT-
Curled on the floor I was sitting in the remains of what was my mirror. It saw so many things, but I never accepted the reflection in it- what is purpose to look at it then? I freaked out and knocked it down, breaking it up and hurt my arm. Sadly I went down and sat on the floor next to all those glittering pieces of glass, not worrying if some of them would cut me. My whole life passed in front of my eyes.
"Eat, kid, everything from the plate must be eaten!" "Here's a loaf of bread, you can put it into the soup to eat more easily." "Eat a little more" ... it was the beginning. I was always chubby, but since the early days I was predestined for more. Much more. Chubby children are cute to the others, but I see their cruel future full of mockery and degradation. What's a pity my parents didn't see that too.
This sweet phase lasted until the beginning of the school- then the aforementioned mockery and degradation began. Then I was no longer cute- I was a fat child. Even since that one-digit number of years there was this feeling of shame in me, the need to become something that the others would prefer, but this was not possible. I just stepped into a two-digit number and I already started behaving like a older girl - I took weight loss pills, even though I was too young, hoping it would help me get rid of my pounds. There were also teas, nothing more effective than pills, as well as some other things. While eating my soup full of bread I wondered what I was doing wrong and how to change it.
Before every medical exam I was scared- what if I had to stay in a sleeveless shirt or something worse? I don't want them to see what I look like, I'm too disgusting and they would laugh at my ugliness. For the same reason I didn't wear shorts or t-shirts at P.E. , I didn't wear such things in public anyway. I don't want to traumatize people who see me.
Because of that I had too many problems, the more they shouted more I was withdrawn, I didn't even want to take off my coat, I felt so safe in it. The P.E. classes broke every bit of confidence that I had, I felt so humiliated after them. They would laugh whatever I do- when I ran, dozens of gazes would be turned into me, followed by a laugh that paralyzed me, not better situation with exercises and sports neither. This degrading position spread to everything else- they would have underestimated me, avoided me, mocked me. I was waiting for the day when I would show them all, but it would never come.
I would feel so safe when I would put on more clothes, which brought me new problems and new mockery. For God's sake, what is wrong with these people, what do they want from me? Why are they laughing at me because of my clothes? Why is that bothering them now too? I'm really starting to hate myself.
In the high school I felt good enough for the first time in my life, I even lost some weight because of the long walks from the school, but it couldn't have lasted long enough - that feeling of worthlessness returned again. I remember the summer after the first year of highschool by extremely restrictive diet where I for a few days had only some juice of maple syrup, which, of course, didn't work in the long run. In the second year I changed my diet, while I was still changed by fate. It was a matter of time when something bad would happen in my organism.
One night I turned on the TV and saw a show in which the main heroine suffered from anorexia. Something broke in my brain. It was the beginning of the worst feeling ever. The first few days at the minimum of food wasn't so hard, I felt bad and before that. By returning to school I returned to 1500 calories, then reduced to 1000, then 900,800,700 ... the number went down in the two or three months, until it reached 50. For these who don't know it's three sips of yogurt with three percents of milk fat. The three sips were supposed to cover four kilometers of walking, seven hours spent in school, energy for learning, sleeping, breathing. It is unbelievable that I managed to get out without bigger problems. It gave me a false self-confidence below which was even greater dissatisfaction and obsession with what I am becoming. Still, it seemed to me as if for the first time in my life I was doing something right, as if I was looking at all who insulted me and said, "Who is laughing now, huh?" Not me. I no longer wanted to laugh, but to self-destruct.
No matter how satisfied I was that I am no longer the one to be mistreated, the roots dragged me into exaggeration bringing me bulimia, fortunately not long, but long enough to let the smallest dose of self-confidence disappear. I became a failure that couldn't do anything right.
Everywhere around me walk beautiful girls and women, shaped like female beings, and then I look at my body and I realize that I will never look like that. I will always be a apple shaped,with a wide body frame, a low growth. They all say that we should accept ourselves as we are, but I am not sure that I will ever be able to do that- the roots of the past keep me and remind me of the laugh and underestimation. Every time I see something nice on my body, I realize that this is nothing special and that I am worthless. It's not only the way I look, I don't have anymore faith in my qualities neither, I don't believe that I have any qualities at all. I'm protected by blackness that should hide my feelings and me as a person, they will never understand me. I know that, otherwise people wouldn't, behind my back, say that I am crazy. I see a shame in the eyes of my parents, it breaks me more than anything. I am sorry to bring them into this situation, I wish I don't exist and that they have a normal kid. I don't deserve to talk to people,I have nothing smart to say. I don't deserve to write, everything I write is worthless. I don't deserve to wish, I am not worth the wishes. I don't deserve to live, this planet doesn't need me. I deserve only a death, I will get it anyway.
I'm standing in front of the mirror. It's funny how something trivial like a weight can make you so suspicious of yourself to make you want to disappear. That pale face of the totally poor facial features should be me. This creature whose half of hair which she barely saved after anorexia felt off for the less than two weeks, . This bloody ugly creature, who still carry her pounds although she takes care of her diet. That's me, right? I won't be anymore.
I closed my hand in the fist and broke the mirror, ending up with an injured hand. Sitting in that pile of glass I took up a piece and made a vertical cut on my arm. There was no difference in the first time, and then blood appeared... It ran like never before. It's good,my body agrees with me for the first time, it also thinks it's time to get out of here. I felt a dizziness and my heart started to beat harder, but it didn't stop me from cutting deeper. When I reached nerves I squeezed my teeth again and, with the painful moan, I watched how blood spurted from my wrist ... I hit the artery. No one can save me, I'm dying in a few minutes.
Behind my procession could be heard people's dialogues about my diligence, kindness and similar nonsenses, most of them coming out from the mouths of people who called me crazy until then. The ones that made me feel even worse probably will never even hear my story, they'll probably chase the stars , leaving me in the dust where they think my place is. Maybe in some other life I will be worth living, hopefully they won't ruin that one too, until then I will collect my pieces of broken mirror in the dust ....
-FROZEN -
Dressed up in my most beautiful dress I roam through these snow- covered fields. The virgin snow gently covered my dress and my feet, additionally cooling me with its embrace. It started to be colder and the gentle snow turned to the blizzard, so my body started trembling. I don't understand why, my heart is colder than all this ice field.
Robot. Ice queen. Emotionless person. Whatever they say for me is probably the truth, but this is written strictly sarcastically. How could a person who is oversensitive and whose feelings are so intense that one wrong sentence can ruin them can even be called so?
Since childhood it was known that it wasn't okay to cry, not to laugh loudly, not to get rid of frustration by shouting, it shouldn't be spoken if someone is mocking you. Keep quiet and control yourself. Self control. Complete self-control. It doesn't matter you'll became an emotionless robot, it will only bring you good in life. Too bad I will not live long enough so that my coldness bring me bunch of money and the leader position of some company, as it usually happens, so that others will envy me for wealth and I to envy them for being functional beings who enjoy seeing their descendants, rejoicing in small things and having a whole spectrum of emotions unknown to my heart. For now nobody is envy on anyone, but I still look at them and wonder how they do that.
The lack of emotions has led me to not feel one of the main things in the lives of many people, and that is love. Everybody has different definitions for it, for me it is only a word. A mainstream, boring word that is heard everywhere. I have a instinct for protecting weaker, especially towards my animals (with people it always ends badly), but I don't feel like I love anyone. There is a feeling of belonging to a group, liking something or just a temporary euphoria, but true love should be more than that, however to me it seems as an unnecessary complication. I'm not sure how it works at all, how is it possible to be so close to somebody and at the same time to have positive feelings for that person? How can they let themselves into it so much and let mind wander behind them?
At some moments I imagine that I would like to feel what it looks like, but then my mind reminds me that I am the slave of my sanity.
I don't know if people are thinking about all this at all, or just let go, but I know that the intimacy is horrifying to me. Every time I imagine a kiss or a moment of flirt something in me breaks and I realize that I don't want it ever in my life, and then I am covered with a feeling of disgust. I feel like a child to whom an unknown man approaches in the street and wants to do something bad to it. I have never become an adult, such adult things make me freak out, it probably means that I will die alone which would be a medicine for my lonely soul. I hate when someone touches me, let alone go much further, I really don't know how I became such a non-social creature.
A huge barrier prevents me from feeling, I don't know how to have trust, love and desire for some creature. The only thing I have loved in my life endlessly, and if it is something alive, are my animals. Unfortunately, I'm so ill-fated that these creatures slip out of my hands, falling into the abyss of death from where I can't get them, no matter how much I stood over the abyss and cried for them. It happened that I was with them till the end, trying to save them but death would always take them. I'm such an emotionally unlucky, why is this happening to me? Nobody stays in my life-friends are leaving and it's tiring to even talk to some new people, animals die, love is not possible. I am completely alone in this. As time passes by I'm getting more and more away from others, my coldness drives away and those who are approaching. Why would somebody try to unfreeze something worthless if many nice things are glittering under the sun rays that makes them even more beautiful? My sun has long since shut down, my lips no longer smile and don't rejoice over others.
Every time someone tries to unfreeze me and then gives up (because no one would waste time on, as I have already said, something worthless), more ice is created around me. I can no longer be seen under that ice, I'm lost forevermore. It is painful when you are someone who is an outsider, when they consider you selfish and uninterested, while you know that you try like a maniac to prove to someone you are a good person. Why do I bother? They will always see an ice, not a person inside. Many are criticizing me I'm guilty of not letting people in my life, but I can't do it, my psyche kills me inside. Would I want this? Would I want to be a chronic loner with the diagnosis of a "lost case"?
Forget it, world, I see that I don't belong in sunny fields. I return to my ice world.
The long black dress has long since became white from the snow, just like my hair. For several hours I've been walking in the snow, without some obvious reason and direction. Actually, for others it would look like that, but I know I'm on the right track, for the right reason.
I'm trembling uncontrollably, my limbs are cut off from the coldness. I can no longer stand, I only feel that my body touches the snow, and then the pain continues to take up the rest of my body with the same intensity. The heartbeat was slowly stopping. Now, my soul is the warmest ever , since I am in hell. Sarcasm. I don't believe in hell. We people created hell here. The last breath froze in the air and then flew to the sky.
The next morning the blizzard was stopped and the sun appeared, for the joy of many people, and began to melt the fields covered with snow. Its rays were reflected in the last tears of corpse in the snow.
-BROKEN -
The moon illuminated my face filled with rage, sadness and fear. This evening brought back everything that I buried for years in the garden of my mind and I, a fool, thought that I would beat at least some demons on this way. Yes, I will beat them all as soon as I touch this sidewalk in front of me. Well, let's go slowly.
I left this goddamn town, but the letter still found the way to me and then disturbed me very much. Calling for a court? An unexpected loss? No, even worse. The graduation anniversary.
Okay, man, how is that worse? Well, when something is in your bad memory then things that reminds you of it makes you upset. I was supposed to do what I really wanted- to rip the shipment into pieces and throw the pieces of paper like confetti around the room, then to cry and try to forget everything with a few glasses of strong alcohol. Instead I did all of this, except the damn ripping. Letter stood and reminded me of the event I didn't want to attend. I was asking myself- would it be good for my psyche? How smart is it to see a persons whose laugh is still haunting me today? Could my fragile psyche take it, will it help it recover? As you can conclude from an intro I made a mistake, a big mistake. I wanted to show everyone that I am stronger than the past, but I ignored the fragility of my sanity.
I went to the city, who the hell made me to do so, and then took a room in the same hotel where the manifestation was held at the ground floor, it was one of the few hotels anyway. As I arrived in the morning and the charade was held in the evening, I had quite enough time for nonsense called dressing up and, what hasn't been such a stupid idea, drinking a few glasses of wine. At least I slept until the evening.
The moon appears behind the nearby buildings, evening has already officially started. Through the window I noticed some of the familiar faces and felt that my heart was pounding rapidly. I wanted to give up going down, but I was already ready. I take another sedative and go.
Given that I am an alternative, I have already been different from all these modern girls in fancy dresses. My gothic combination and dark makeup have stood out from sparkly pastel dresses. Good job, girl, very subtle.
Logically, the glance of some of these people I dislike stopped on me and stayed there. I only quickly looked them back and slowly went to the side. I took another glass of drink (so what if I took a sedative, don't bother me!), then I sat down at a distant table. Again, I noticed a group of them looking at me and talking something. They must be wondering who am I. I would also sometimes like to know that, I don't know who I am neither.
Did I act mysteriously or completely stupid - I don't know, but I know that I seemed as the biggest fool to myself. I was supposed to be a Gothic hipster, completely cold and untouchable, and I turned out to be a nervous afraid lunatic. Those two pills were in vain. I was just afraid of who would come to me, hoping that I would get out before it happens. Of course, every familiar face was another millimeter of a knife in my heart, I would bleed if I suddenly pulled it out.
I played a game with myself- a sip of drink for anyone who is in a bad memory. Let's go, let the flood begin!
Table right next to the window-girls from the class. Half are okay, for the second half I take a drink. Let me clear this, both the female and male part of the group did this, as if I was a magnet for a laugh. While I made sips for laugh to my weight, my poor material situation, my actions and everything I did, wore, talked ... I was a little dizzy. The only person who would keep me sane didn't come, but that's why the one who will make me completely lose my mind did. Now I realize when and because of whom bullying started, so I don't want her to notice me. I no longer guarantee for my actions, it is better for her to stay away from me.
As long as they didn't force me to hang out with her I had a good relationship with others. As soon as she interfered into my life, my best friend back then began to verbally abuse me every day and the class turned against me, which turned into very hurtful insults later which are still carved into my brain. Hey, it means that everything was fine with me, but she was the one they couldn't bear! But she is there, talks to them and not thinking about the past, they talk to her, and I'm drinking a second glass! Okay, I have to stop and put myself together. Slowly. Slowly get up and leave the room as seamlessly as possible before it's too late. My psyche already burns, I have to go as soon as possible.
I ignored those curious glances because I was not interested in them anymore, but that piercing voice behind me... "Hey, we didn't see since high school!" Damn it. I look like myself too much to pretend that it was not me. "I didn't know you were drinking! " It's not something you learn, it comes naturally with other nonsenses in life. I watched her while she was chattering, but then she asked me a question. Life is too short to spend it on this. How it started, my life will last very shortly.
Without words, I turned and went to the door. I'm not rude, I have the soul too so I can't stand everybody. I know this conversation in my mind: she asks a question, I answer, she keeps the sermon, I piously keep silent. I didn't take enough wine to bow down to her words, so I just tried to go nonchalantly. She kept talking while she was following me. "I don't want to talk," I said the first time. She continues. "I warn you, leave me, I'm not sane right now. "I said the second time harsher, and she started laughing, she thought I was joking. There was a lighting in my eyes while I said furiously "For the last time I'm telling you..." ,but she thought her blabbering would please me.
I remembered all her betrayals, underestimating glances, everything that I lost because of a toxic friendship in which I got a bunch of stories about her, forgetting my life and my problems, and she was still wearing her mask of naive girl...
My hand clenched into fist and found the way to her face. They all looked at me, including the teacher who yelled: "What did you do? What happened to you?" I said calmly: "What has been done within me has been haunting me my whole life. This is a punch to all of you, because I've grown old enough to know how to say 'Enough! ' and to stop what hurts me. When I begged that your torture stop you didn't stop, so now you wash the blood from your hands. I will heal my wounds tonight and you will understand that, when the victim is silent, this is not because she is happy to be bullied . Be happy that I just hurt a little bit of nose to the one who hurt me the most, I should have bought a bomb to kill all of us."
I took a bottle of alcohol from the reception while I was leaving, unable to listen to the people behind me. Again, they pitied her. I'm just a drunken stupid who punches people with the fist.
A few floors above I open a massive doors. I'm not on the roof of the world, just on the roof of the building. I opened the bottle, took several sips and went to the edge. I'm too numb for the smart last words, so I'll just step forward without thinking, but that will be what I want, no matter what my current condition is. A short flight with a scary picture of a sidewalk approaching, then all went black. Another person on the blacklist of that school, the list they want to forget, lists of people who have left their young life under the claws of Death. Intentionally. One person is missing tonight, I will tell him that there was nothing special if we meet.
I really shouldn't go, this way I will be remembered as an aggressive person. It sucks. It would be better if I remained a weirdo.
-CROSSED-
Loss. It seems to me that I can't hold anything, everything disappear or someone takes it away. Life holds its foot on my face and reminds me that I have to abide to his domination. While roaming on these wooden boards I was thinking of the only thing that I can still lose. From this point, it seems meaningless.
In the last years of the twentieth century the work was and more than great- honest work was finally paid off. The vultures circled above our property and took part of what belonged to us, of something we worked for. They left us on the verge of existence. In just a few years, the dreams about the peaceful old age of my parents and my secure future have disappeared, what remained were empty pockets and emptier plates. I was a child and I didn't know what was going on in the beginning, but Life makes you learn what you rather wouldn't. The black clouds appeared above our house, which is even worse they still go with us.
The evil man of human form and the devil's traits began to follow us as a shadow, together with more of loud shadows that laugh from the darkness and do evil things to us. Their torture became mundane, so the peace of mind went silent and we couldn't do anything. The carnivores ate the serenity and left nervousness and restlessness behind us, looking at us with their ravenous eyes, wanting more of our blood. When they couldn't get our blood, they would eat the lives of small creatures that we called friends. They would only fall down with painful moan because of the poison that beasts would give them, on one occasion they threw one of our little creatures over a fence of two meters, thereby killing it. I felt such a rage against these jerks, but they became even worse. It was too difficult to ignore them, they were constantly sitting under the tree that was across our house , while making annoying sounds and looking at our yard, thus challenging us. We were terrified, fearing everything. We endured everything they were doing, although we weren't able to endure it for too long.
It's been a couple of years since the beginning of the twenty-first century, I'm wearing my old jacket and older shoes that would suit the older person rather than me. "It's not important the beauty, but the heat," my mother said. Too bad that children in the class didn't hear this while laughing at me. I would have wore what I would have, given that it was difficult to find nice things for my age and overweight, it would usually be adult clothes tailored to my height. When I was younger I wore beautiful dresses and I felt like a princess, now I felt like a beggar because of their ridicule. I wasn't interested in wearing expensive things and living in luxury, I just wanted a mockery to stop.
One of the so-called friends told the class that I live in modest conditions, which, surprisingly, caused a long-standing ridicule that I couldn't get rid of all the time. To other people they somehow never laughed because of poverty. I really don't understand why they were laughing at me for something that wasn't in my power. I wish I could come back in time and punch them, I want to never again experience such a thing.
This experience taught me not to talk about my problems because people are evil and they are laughing at each other. Whether it's like this or not, the elementary school taught me that lesson and my family never got any help. Humiliated to the end, we had to do the last thing we could, trying with all efforts to survive. Under the pressure of the bloodthirsty beasts we gave up and sold the house, our only safe place.
The struggle continued in the new home, we didn't get enough money to buy a new one so we had to deal with that little money we had. However, the evil man didn't leave us alone, he wanted something more, we became tired and didn't know what else to do. Left alone, we waited for a decision about our lives, afraid will he persecute us again.
In the summer months we would work from morning to evening to accumulate some money; in the winter months we would be left without anything. There would be hardly some money for sugar or flour, let alone a piece of meat or cheese. I don't consume meat, but in those winter months I want a piece of cheese or something that is harder to afford, and my parents usually separate some money for the cheapest pieces of chicken or a similar food, so that their winter menu is more versatile. Sometimes we give the last bit to our little friends, we know that they have more soul than many people.
We've lost so much of them for all these years, I wish we could give them more and to give them a better life, better nutrition and better conditions in general. I'm sorry if we disappointed them.
Another winter is before us. We don't have wood, we don't have enough money, we have no hope for a better tomorrow. I gave up the only thing which gave me hope that something would change to cover the expenses of my trip, I don't want others to pay for it.
Here's the train, this is my station, I'm coming down. I'm feeling the trembling of train, I don't know who was shaking more, train or me, as I gently kneeled on the ground. The rail trembled and the flash of light blinded me for a moment, so I closed my eyes and waited for the end. Life. The last thing I can lose. All other has long been gone, this is the only thing I had. All until now. The engine-driver didn't notice me so curled on the track and continued his journey, and my journey was over. I don't need anything anymore, I don't feel poverty, there are no more those who made my life worse. I won't feel guilty for any insignificant thing I buy or destroy, I won't feel guilty about the food I eat and for the things I spend; I won't feel that I'm not worth the air I breathe. I wanted to secure my family, but I know that I am powerless. The money that I would save wouldn't be enough even for two weeks of survival, I hope at least that my funeral will be cheaper. In this cruel world money is everything, it has always been so. However, wealth can be disappear as fast as it can be made ...
-POISONED-
Albums with photos. Yes, we children of the nineties have those cool stuff. Mobile phones can't replace the smell of new photos and an excitement when you take them and see them for the first time, it's a very exciting moment. I'm opening an album. In this picture I'm a baby, my father is holding me. During my childhood, he repeated the melody he was singing to me, told me that I loved listening to the radio as a baby and that I spoke my first words listening to the speaker on the radio. In the meantime, I opened a box of sedatives and I took one, watering it with a sip of brandy.
It seems that from the cradle to the grave is really the most beautiful in the cradle, you are not aware of your existence. You become a child. I turn around the album and watch the newborn become bigger and turns into the previously mentioned child. Another sedative, two sips of brandy.
Here are my barbies, my best friends! I'm looking at the toys in the picture and I recognize the majority, wondering where these others have gone. I played with them nicely, for hours I would sit on the floor and make my own game, my own story ... So much imagination was in me. Two sedatives slid down my throat.
In a room that we haven't used back then stood a wardrobe, they kept the notebooks in the upper drawer to have when I go to kindergarten. I wanted to draw in them, which I practiced for years, becoming better. It was the beginning of my drawing skill.
Like most children of the nineties I was also interested in playing Super Mario and similar games. Although I later played games on a computer nothing can be compared to that old console. The nowadays technology is too advanced. Even my first phone was "a brick" as they called old phones, "Panasonic" brand. I got the phone in the fifth grade, after many had a phone with a camera, but it was very dear to me because it was my first phone. Every new phone brought the same excitement and my creativity got a new dimension when I got the phone with the camera. I was recording the videos often, it was very fun. It's a pity is that I can not make such fun videos anymore. Two more sedatives, one sip of brandy.
I recorded demos of my songs, it was more interesting to create music on that way. Brother (cousin) and I had the same phones, we would share new songs which we would record through the speakers, or the pictures we had. We played beautifully, it is a shame that growing up divides people. We would play for hours, we didn't care what the other one had - it didn't matter. It was important that we are together and have a good time, whether it was making a playhouse in the backyard or making pastries (in which we, by the way, forgot to add salt!), and even my attempts to play football. There was a lot of laughter. Now I probably wouldn't have been able to endure so much laughter. I open a bottle of wine and drank two sips, adding another pill.
Every moment in the imagination was filled with satisfaction, I didn't want the cruelty of the world to interfere with it. It did later, but at least for a while I kept it away from my world. Seeing a picture of this beautiful flower I imagined I was a superhero of the same name, that I am someone who is important to this world and can save people. I let others in that fantasy, but others always ruin everything with their interfering. I am still that person in my thoughts, only I realized that my powers are smaller, but nevertheless they can save somebody. Unfortunately, not me. Another wine sip, one sedative.
I brought life to my dolls and in return I got many friends because they remember what you do for them, as long as you know it yourself. They are all what you want them to be. They cheer me up when the others destroyed me, they gave me the feeling that I'm worth . What a shame that all has disappear with the time, so does the feeling of value. With them my creativity has become something completely new and amazing. I never realized where it all came from, only the new artwork would appear in my thoughts, it was mine to preserve it.
My creativity got better when I went to high school - the peace that this place possessed was very stimulating. I would have gone earlier and, sitting in some corner, I would write or draw in the notebooks that I would always carry with me. Those moments of solitude were more dear to me than all the celebrations I was at, they helped me to find my core. Lonely spacious corridors covered with light enough to inspire. Outside was a forest - the school was in the middle of a forest, framed with a hill and a vineyard on one and a trees on the other side. Real paradise for an artist like me.
I take two more pills, a sip of wine and a sip of brandy.
With ten pills in my system and nine sips of alcohol I was already lost so much so that my thoughts got dizzy. I remembered another thing that brought pleasure to me- not love, it was only a temporary excitement, and then the pain, but my home. I miss my house more than anything, I know that I can no longer come back there and that I will never again see it. They brought me into that house as a baby of a few days, three days before the end of the year, I came out from it when I was the nineteenth. The last time I was in it when we moved out, taking a dog and a cat who was sleeping beside my dear pet we had to leave there. The bastards grabbed what we couldn't take away, the cats went away, the trees we cared about were cut down.
Everything is gone, the time stopped. I'm leaving the album and, with a bunch of memories of a home that I don't have anymore, drank a few more sips of brandy and wine, and then one by one of the remaining twenty pills from the box. I dropped my head on the pillow and for the last time dreamed of my house, hoping that I would see it again, that everything was just a nightmare and that I was still her inhabitant, the first child of that house which my father made alone with struggle ...
Two days later, they made my last move. My body was moved three meters below the ground.
-HUNG-
King and queen of our lives. We all have one - sometimes they are not with us, leave us, kneel down before mortality. Even when the king and the queen are beside us it doesn't mean that we will be in the castle as the princes and princesses next to them . Sometimes we are just servants, jesters, knights who sacrifice life for the king and the queen. My king and queen have not saved their kingdom- in vain I keep the crystal if hundreds of diamonds are broken with a pneumatic hammer.
In all this concrete empire it was forgotten about my growing up. The Queen and the King were in the kingdom, but they seemed to be somewhere far away. Too bad that couldn't wait so they could dedicate to me later.
Buying a toy, suit or chocolate would not fill the emotional void I was not aware of, I needed a company. I was like a porcelain doll under a glass bell, but I was actually a plain plastic doll covered with an old dirty cloth. Kids? What is that? I knew only for adults. There was no time, they had to work and they didn't think about it. I do not blame them for that, I know they had to, but it brought me problems at school later.
As they closed their eyes to the enemy's army a large part of the kingdom was ruined and then, little by little, the kingdom fell along with sanity. Perhaps the sanity never existed, who would know. Quarrels have started. Before that there were queen's shouts and the threat that she will leave me for every child's mischief, and I would cry and beg her not to do it, thinking that I have no choice. Now I understand where the fear of abandoning came from -she pushed it to the core of my being, making me feeling guilty for being a child.
When the argues started for the first time I saw a completely different picture of my home- it became the battlefield in which I was the greatest victim. As they shouted for one another because of things that none of them were guilty of, I cried and kicked myself with all my strength because I could no longer bear that shouting. It was not rare that such things were happening before I went to school so I usually went scared, worrying if everything would be okay when I came back. My moans were long, I would barely calm down after them, but it didn't matter because the two of them were self-absorbed.
A few years later I became an active member of it, through I hate quarrels - they would simply get me into it or the most ordinary discussion would became a fire. I remember this terrible day when they were arguing outside while neighbors were listening, those the bloody crawlers who led them to that, and then the queen kicked several months-old kitten and killed him. I will never forgive her, she put her anger in front of someone's life. It brought a lot of tears from my side, but also anger.
In high school, I realized how much I despise that being- she always wants the best, thinks she's worth a lot and underestimates others just like that, including me. I would have brought good grades at home and behaved fairly, but always everyone else had the words of praise from her. She puts her poison, her damn expensive poison whose smoke is suffocating me for a years, in front of us, even when we have no money for food she must have nicotine or she eat us alive with her complaining and crying. Then begins the most dreadful drama in which she threatens, shouts, says she wants to leave house. During one quarrel she almost hit me with bigger piece of wood,which could have left a consequences. Well, I understand that if I make some mistake in what I'm doing right now I can end up with permanent brain damage, but I have no other choice. During the each debate I am put to the deepest bottom and after that I have no will for life, her insults reach to the tiniest cell in my body.
She's always waiting, never does anything first. If someone makes mistake she will always carp about it, regardless of the fact that she was passively waiting someone else to do something. Her naivety and chattering only made a difficult situation worse because she gave some informations to strangers that they shouldn't know. That brought the whole family into an unpleasant situations many times.
I could write for the hours about the queen's traits and how much more I can't bear what she does, but people will think that the king is sinless. From the caring leader, king has become a self-centered creature who no longer listens to others and thinks he is always right. No matter how much I appreciate him I can't stand the morning shouts that sometimes wake me up, all the terrible things that he says during that shouting and that, whenever someone points to a mistake, he begins to curse or make an excuses. It seems that the agreement means nothing for them, even my suggestions- they always do it on their own way. It seems to me that I am a surplus in all this, they make a deals between themselves and argue between themselves. In the end, they often remind me that I am not like others. I know, I'm too insane , I've betrayed them. I'll always be the last thing to worry about.
I tie a noose for the chandelier, then slide my head through the opening. They are busy with themselves, no problem, at least not yet. I can no longer be a servant and a jester in this castle, I'm not strong enough to be a knight. King would appreciate that but,oh ill-fate, to queen it would not be enough. I'm giving up the throne of a failed kingdom because the king and the queen do not want to work together to rebuild it, they do not want us to try to make it untouchable again. I don't have to be a seer to see a total catastrophe in front of me. The chair fell to the ground and then I didn't see anything anymore.
They only saw the end of their kingdom and realized how much power one jester held in her hands, and their crowns touched the land because the king and the queen don't exist without their subjects. I did what they had threatened me for years without knowing that I would be the first to decide on this step.
-INJECTED -
I looked at this little bottle in my hands once more and tried to find some sort of sanity within myself, which was simply impossible. The panic occupied me again, again washed up my brain.
I am connecting the beginning of the panic with elementary school and the first unpleasant social situations that have led to a greater panic. I know that my attacks make me boring, overdramatic and/or, like a total lunatic, to be rumored about. I know all of that. Maybe I am a lunatic. I surely am.
All of this is connected: mockery, loneliness, bad self-confidence, panic. All of that is around my neck and drag me on the dust of what was once my mind. You think that you are not worth it, that you are not like the others - I really appreciate the originality and don't speak in that sense, but in the sense that I don't value myself as a person. Too much mockery, too little encouragement. I believed them.
I dropped my head down as I walked through the street, looking down not to see people in front of me, I was scared of them because they were laughing at me. I was still a child, so it left a bad memory in my head. Later conversations began to be the source of inconvenience and fear. I can't talk with the loud, hot-tempered or too happy people, I completely lose myself in that situation and became scared to talk. I'm afraid while walking on the street, it happens to me to see the faces of the past on the people I see for the first time, the paranoia completely catch me and the chain reaction of bad memories starts... My brain explodes and I feel in a second that fear is turning into rage, rage into fear, fear into sadness, sadness into anger ... The heart starts to beat faster, eyes want to cry, but can't, breath is getting harder. When attack happens in the house, some kind of autodestruction is calming me, either drinking alcohol, sedatives or making cuts and bruises on my own body. During one attack I stabbed my hand with a fork, once I made a black bruise on the whole forearm (whole length), a bunch of times hitted my head on the wall, made a lot of wounds on my arm. The sedative is not a long-term solution, it seems to me that nothing helps in the long run, alcohol has only caused addiction. Autodestruction is the best for me. Everybody is afraid of something, the problem is when fear prevails and takes control.
Every new evening represents a new tempest of thoughts that makes it difficult for me to go to sleep, my weak hands can't stop that avalanche of snow that covers me every night. Even when I'm sleeping there is no better situation,nightmares get into my subconscious. Bunch of running away, fear and other concerns are in them, reminding me of what troubles me even during the break. In the morning I would be anxious and the new chain of worry could begin. Anxiety doesn't give you a break, you always have to work for it.
It's as if a huge clock is standing in the hall of my mind and tells me that there is little time left, contrary to the nothingness that tells me that nothing matters. You want everything, you want nothing. Everything and nothing. It's impossible to have both. Nothingness and panic want different things. There is no time, there is too much time, there is no calm, it is too calm. There is no sanity... Well, there's really no sanity. The time passes, it scares me. I don't become younger, I feel like a child. Wrinkles appear and I haven't grown up. I need to accept new duties, society expects it, the same society that is rude to me. They are better than me, I am nothing. I don't want to grow up, I want to feel functional; children are the ones that adults work for, I am not a child because I work and I haven't grown because I am a child inside. What am I? The monster, the waste of our society? Do I exist at all? Does world exist? Why trying when everything is in vain ... Ha, paranoia and nothingness agree in one thing- it's all in vain.
After paranoia always comes nothingness, blissful in its simple emptiness, to cover me with its melody. It seems that I will always be alone, the paranoia takes people away from me with its insane fear. I fear to let them come closer, in the end they rip off your heart and disappoint you. I don't want to let them go any closer, I'm freaked out by their showing of tenderness. What to do, I'm a savage, I should go back to the forest where I came from.
The past disturbs me to the limits. Ironically, I wasn't a culprit, and yet I'm upset about the things that others don't care about. They probably didn't even think about it and yet I can't stop thinking. I'm balancing on the edge of the volcano, moving from the chaos of hundreds of thoughts to complete emptiness. If I could at least turn it into the most beautiful chaotic painting on the canvas, I would be a grand artist.
Winter comes, it scares me like all the other seasons. I'm afraid how we'll continue. I'm afraid of the rain, I'm afraid of lightning and thunder. I'm afraid of the wind when it starts to blow harder, I'm afraid of the sun. Sun means a change in dressing and for me and extra stress. I have to hide in black. I have to hide the proof of my paranoia. Proof that I'm not okay. I will never tell them that, it would bring even more paranoia. I don't know how to say the problem, so I write. I have no idea what I'm writing, the hand moves alone. When I read it, I can't connect it in my mind. The words have long since become irrelevant.
I am afraid of my reflection in the mirror, the volume of my voice, my shadow, the sounds, the rays of light, the day, the night, the sunset, the sunrise, the past, the future, every moment ... I fear everything when the panic takes my body. If at least I was on drugs I would know that it is all part of a bad overdose and that there is an exit. This way I don't know what I am on, I don't even know do I care for myself anymore.
Slowly stinging, the needle arrives to my vein, mixing my heated blood with its cold potion until the last drop has ended in my bloodstream. I got it out and put a gauze in order to make sure the fluid will remain in me. This will not cause addiction, the dose is greater than the one that causes sensations. This dose ... will bring me peace.
Slowly I felt it starts to work, maybe at first it was because of the needle's sting, but then I felt the breath calming down, until it completely stopped.
-STARVED -
I've been here for a weeks, in this rented cottage in a remote part where hardly anyone comes in. Only connection with the world is my laptop, I am informing the followers about my crazy venture through it. I'm full of this decaying world, I am full of people, so I'm starving myself for a weeks.
Our world is gone to hell, it's a sad fact. On one side you look at people who are working on something, on the other hand there are those who destroy it. Humanists who save a few lives, killers that destroy hundreds of them. Between the poorest and the richest man is enormous difference - one is fighting for existence, shouldn't even think of a happy future for himself, his family, his environment, and the other has so much money he will never use to restore faith to millions of people. Eh, people are such beings that they never have enough money. Indeed, I have always disdained luxurious things that have a crazy high price and they are functional as much as their cheap versions. Prestige? The hell with prestige. Are we so low as a race, is it such a good feeling to boast about some vain nonsense? I don't understand this human need. The clothes serves us not to go naked, the food serves to give us energy, the home serves to live in it. I like that I don't have a luxury home - why do I need a house that doesn't look like my personality but it's fancy arranged for some fancy people who would admire "my taste"? I prefer my rhapsody, I know that I don't have to behave like a kid in someone else's house. I may be stingy, but along with all these misfortunes I had to learn to save money. In the meantime, you realize that you don't need much in your life, and then you look around and see a bunch of snobs who boast of someone else's work or their suspicious jobs. There are exceptions, tho.
You look around yourself -something that's insignificant to you to someone else means a lot or is too expensive in the other part of the world. Water is a great example- there's always enough of it here, on the other side of the planet they are paying a lot for it, or struggling whole day to find it, and the quality of the water is not satisfactory compared to our water. It is the same with food. My profession made me think about this topic many times. The food is being thrown every day (I'm talking about technologically, biologically and microbiologically good foods), many foods are consumed during the holiday season, even during a regular day- much more than human needs. In our country, in particular, people barely provide a decent nutritious meal, mainly on the table are white bread, soup, salad, meat products as salami or sausages, sweets and snacks, sugar water called juices. Compared to the countries in which a bunch of high-nutritional foods end up in a trashcan we are one decayed country. We have always been.
Hungry children in Africa sound like a cliché story, but these kids are real. These who can handle it can find many pictures on the internet with children on whom all the ribs can be counted and all the bones through the skin can be seen. However, such children live everywhere. While a child at one end of the world throws his just bit chocolate bar into the trashcan, a child at the other end of the world haven't seen the candy for years. I would always remember that and I wouldn't allow food to waste, it is better to feed the animal than to throw food.
I feel sorry for every little creature that the owner threw out onto the street, leaving it near the road where it will surely be killed by a car. My heart is aching when I remember that we had too many cats that we couldn't give to adoption, but we didn't left them while they were babies, we waited them to grow up a little before we let them in nature where they could have hunt a rodents. I don't know how are they now, I feel guilty when I think if they couldn't make it, I often worry about it. Since we lived near a dangerous road it was too hard to keep the animal and at home, that's what happens when someone in a populated suburb drives at a speed that would kill a man in the spot, let alone an animal.
However, some owners go so far as to abandon blind puppies and kittens, who would beg for help with their tiny voices. I hated that I can't save them all, I have too many animals and no one would want another one (if they wanted we would adopt some of ours, but it is difficult to find such a person.) To a bit older animals at least I could give a piece of pastry or something, if I had it. My pets have always been my friends, so I'm sorry for all those hungry, frostbitten, injured creatures.
I could understand a person who can't support pets and let them, as we ourselves did, but I don't understand these sadistic creatures that are hurting animals. I still have a picture in my head of a dog to whom some monsters put a firecrackers in its mouths, or a polar bear to whom they did the same thing. What kind of person is this person who enjoys the harm of another being that didn't do anything to him? I wouldn't think of a punishment harsh enough for such insensitive people, besides them even me, the ice queen,seem as the most caring being on the planet. Many adults have lost empathy, so they don't teach children how to worry about others. Our world is falling apart and it will keep falling apart, nothing is worse than the insensitive bullies what the next generation are becoming. We are already witnesses of the end.
On the one hand the world faces a disaster of civilization because there are six billion people on the planet, on the other hand a country like ours pays a lot attention on birth. I will skip participation in natality, but I will therefore give my contribution to mortality this year. When a woman in this kind of stupid conservative environment goes over certain age there comes a talking about marriage, offering a male people whom she haven't even seen in her life or heard about them for the first time (usually by the middle-aged women who know these men), embarrassing glances of appearance starts, then even more unpleasant conversations ... When a woman is married, she has to listen talks about having a child, as if it was ordered by law that every woman must give birth to a child. Damn it with their marriage, I don't remember someone who's happy to be married, at least of these I know in reality. I don't have the nerves to satisfy the "caring" people. Our society has too many desires and the only thing it gives is acceptance, so I don't care about their acceptance when I can't fulfill what they want to. I will fulfill my moral obligation not to kill someone else, that's my maximum. For the rest I don't guarantee.
So much the inequality is in this world that it hurts. Why racism, nationalism, chauvinism and other synonyms for division, what has it brought us? Wars, destruction, blood and traumas? "Live and let others live" and not "live and kill these who disagree with you." People create wars- nature creates disasters, diseases, falling meteors and similar things, people create wars. Nature could take a break, we humans are worse towards one another than three tsunamis, two tornadoes, five active volcanoes, ten floods and one bigger meteor altogether. We are our own hell. We are fighting over of the beliefs that we have created, because of the borders that we have set , because of the problems we have made on our own. We are separated on black people, whites and asians (I'm not talking about scientific facts because the skin type is divided into Caucasian, Mongolian and Negroid type based on their characteristics, but about underestimating and insulting someone who has a different skin type ), forgetting that there are these who don't belong to either "white" or "black" or "yellow" side. It's like painting and mixing colors on a palette, everything is possible. We are equal, we are all living beings.
There are so many things that left impression to me in this society, but I won't have time to write it all down. I leave the last post on social networks. Those were a hard weeks, I don't feel my body from a lack of food and water, and yet I am in pain. The followers are telling me to stop, but there is no stopping because it has already gone too far. I don't have much left, maybe I will die these days. Maybe some of these people will do their best to be better to our planet, to people, plants, animals. My soul will be satisfied if at least they tried, it wouldn't hurt them and it would mean to the planet.
A few days later, as reported by one of the followers, the police found the place I was. Inside there was my cold, starved body on the couch, so they called the undertakers to take me.
-SHOT-
There's another one coming tonight. Every year there comes another New year. There were so many of them coming, I stopped to look forward to them and to wait for them, they will come and without my countdown. I hear the firecracker outdoors, I really don't know why they have to make so much noise over one more number on the calendar. I would love to simply ignore them, but they are too loud.
I really don't know what kind of a holiday person am I - I would decorate my room in November for some time, now I don't decorate it at all. Sometimes I put a holiday hat in the middle of the summer, other times I would rather not like to even think about it at all. The whole holiday joy is very hard for me, I can't rejoice at anything, why would holidays be an exception when they are worse than anything else. I wish I could get into hibernation until this joyful hell passes.
When I was a child my mother put decorations. This is nothing new, rarely when she allowed me to participate, whether it was decorating the house or painting a coloring book (bought for me, of course) yet, when I grew up, there was suddenly expected too much from me, more initiatives than I could handle. We would have put the same decorations, balloons on the Christmas's lights that, as if by some kitschy tradition, were wrapped around the chandeliers, and then we would add that fluffy thing I don't even know the name of. Real oasis of the kitsch, I admit that sometimes I was scared of these decoration. They would have been here to half of January and were placed before my birthday. What a stupid tradition.
I was born on the Catholic Christmas, so the holiday season in our house was one week longer. Now the agony lasts for one week longer. My birthdays were charades, they were more like home visits than at celebrations - we set the table, guests come, lunch or dinner, adults are talking, children are playing and goodbye. It's a short version. I never liked to go to birthdays, I'm a partybreaker ie one who kills the party.
I don't like to be in a larger group of people, I'm feeling worse after it anyway. The last time I celebrated my sixteenth birthday before my depression worsened. On the seventeenth story of the celebration ends, I remember that day for going to the bridge to jump from it. It obviously didn't happen, it wasn't tall enough for death, so I left it for later in March. It's another story, it has nothing to do with this story. That same year I didn't wait for the New Year, I slept trying to ignore the pain between the forearm and the upper part of the arm, that is the inner part of the elbow. I thought that the cut on that part of my body will kill me, but I'm alive to talk.
I remember the nineteenth birthday by loneliness, gingerbread cottage that drove me insane and the breakfast that I mostly ate on my own. For the majority I also gave my best to make a the cake, but no one else wanted to eat it because there was a quarrel, so I ate it myself. It's good I didn't make a cake of normal size, but maybe such a cake might have killed me because of my higher sugar level. Well, that's what I call a sweet death.
Twenth birthday, twenty-six pills. I don't remember the twenty-first, I was high once again. I wish every birthday was like that twenty-first, not to touch me at all.
About the New Year's Eve, I remember when we first came to a new house, I thought that I would sleep peacefully, I even took ten pills that were gently knocked me out, but the Neanderthals with firecrackers were stronger and from falling into a coma. My heart pumped as crazy and the anxiety didn't give up for almost an hour. Seriously, what is wrong with them? Does audible simulation of war represent the expression of happiness for them? An explosive device explodes, then what? Puff!... The end, it just burst. As when you pound your hand on a table or someone hits your head with the math notebook. Plus, let's not talk about the potential injury to animals, they don't care whether is the New Year or whatever, but are very sensitive to noise. Puff! Here's another one! Puff! It's like we're in a war zone, not a holiday season. It's better that they played their turbo folk, I would still somehow understand that. Puff! Oh hell. I'm trying in vain.
One of the worst ideas for a person like me is turning TV on, every single commercial will want to give you some holiday joy and take your money that, see a miracle,you don't have. I can't understand it, all this gifts and grandiose celebrations: Christmas is a Christian holiday, it has nothing to do with Santa Claus, that day we don't celebrate the arrival of Santa Claus but the birth of Jesus, and all this is companies's fault because they make big deal about it and attract naive consumers who give great importance to all of that. In our place Christmas is a calm holiday because people's euphoria reduces after New Year's Eve, somehow it doesn't make a problem to me (until these maniacs with firecrackers start), I love when there is no too big deal about some holiday. They come, pass, leave you without money and take the euphoria with them. No better situation with television, every year the same thing, the same conversations, the same wishes, different people. The only thing I like about this season are all these glittering lights, they look so magical under the lap of the night. They are so magical, I admire their colorful beauty. Who would say that something so small can be better than everything else this and every other winter.
In my childhood, my dad and I would play with balloons, watching a New Year's program that somehow had more sense than this one today. My mother didn't want to play with us, very rarely she would do it. Of course, who I am that she could behave like a mother to me. We didn't light a firecrackers and similar nonsenses, it's a vainful throwing of a money, damage to the ears and a potentially injured hand for life. PUFF!
In the last several minutes of old year, I've been thinking that this will always be repeated and that I will still feel bad after the holiday doom metal ends. I know, it's called a blues, but I'm a metalhead and doom metal better describes my feelings. PUFF!
I looked into my undecorated walls, pulled out a gun from the drawer, cursed after another firecracker nearby and put weapon next to my head. The countdown starts: 10 ... 9 ... 8 ... 7 ... 6 ... 5 .. .4 ... 3 ... 2 ... 1 ... 0! PUFF! This time, it was not a firecracker.
My walls will always be decorated with my blood, even after the holidays.
-BURNT -
Everything is here- all of my more important works are here, I am here, the disappointment is here. Failed artist with her artworks... oh, I didn't even get to the first step so that I can say that I failed as an artist, I simply didn't make it, no matter how hard I tried it. A full moon illuminates the meadow full of colorful flowers, which looked like small Christmas's lights under the moon's light. It's time to set up the fire.
I always knew that I wanted to be an artist, even though I wasn't like those blessed children whose parents helped their artistic side to develop from a young age. My drawings were scribbles, my singing was part of the children's play, my songs were worse than others. To others it was all part of the transient phase- to me it was the beginning of what I am. Time and practice changed things: my drawings were becoming nice, voice pleasant, songs interesting. No one even mentioned that in the first grade I had a terrible handwriting because of left-handedness, but that improved after a hand exercises. They say that left-handed are good artists, because we have a more developed right side of the brain, one in charge of sound, colors, visual effects. Right-handed are better in communication and logical things like learning text or mathematics because they have developed the left side of the brain. I often find myself admiring some color or design while others are thinking about a completely different thing. I may be an alternative, but I love colors and enjoy the right combinations at the right place. My favorite combination is blue-purple-pink, this combination represents coldness, serenity, magic, childhood. I also love combination of black and dark blue, or black with red, that satisfies my dark side.
I mainly draw females and design clothes, so I wanted to be a designer at the end of high school, next to music career. Now I haven't succeeded neither.
I feel disappointed in my drawings when I see what kind of artists exist... I'm ashamed to talk about my talent for drawing. It's true for everything else, I don't feel worth enough for some praise.
My stories, from imaginative fairy tales, have become depressing stories inspired by suicide. No better situation with songs, on the contrary, each is more morbid than the previous one. I don't know if it makes me keep going or slows me down, but I have no choice.
Music is the only thing that makes me keep going or, better to say, that made me keep going, only she had the power to keep me from falling into my secret desire. Somebody who saw my works would knew what my secret desire was, although they will know this anyway.
From the early days I liked dance music, later techno, disco and related ones (dubstep, house, electronics ...) but I discovered my greatest love in the age of sixteen -metal. So much new inspiration, so much beauty in one genre. So much freedom ... I discovered what my voice could do, I didn't even know that I was able to sing all these complicated parts.
I'm afraid to say that I'm good, I'm afraid not to ruin something, so I'm avoiding to speak positively about myself. Besides, the person I don't tolerate has told me that I'm too proud because I told someone what grades I have. Hell yeah, like I didn't try for those grades,but also for all this. Behind my art are many years of work, however it is that's my personal progress. I don't want people to think of me as arrogant person when I say something positive about my work; I'm embarrassed every time it happens. It still doesn't mean that I tolerate so-called singers who boast of alleged career and hits, if it is obvious that they have come to that with nudity, not with talent. Maybe some would hate me for saying it, but I hate show business just because of it, I'm sorry for all those less-known singers who sounds perfect but the bright future is not waiting for them. I am talking mostly about underground genres, maybe that's one of the reasons I couldn't make a band-no one wants a band without perspective.
I've tried it, it's not that I haven't. Since embarrassing in the choir where people laughed at the way I look, years of working on my voice passed. I bought the gear, the members canceled. I wanted to try it myself, I don't have the opportunity for such a thing under the current conditions . I just practiced and practiced, went to audition and felt because they didn't want someone who didn't sing the "tra-la-la" songs (very simple songs with no meaning), I continued to practice, broke mentally, got up, I practiced, felt again. I am sick of this cursed circle of disappointment.
Disappointment when you get the lower grades on the art class while everybody praise your drawing. Disappointment when you write a story that no one likes except you or, on the contrary, everyone else likes except you. Disappointment when the imaginary artwork doesn't turn out as you expected, when you are trying hard but you don't have the inspiration to finish it, when the voice doesn't sound okay, when people are ridiculing something you are trying to accomplish. The disappointment ... when you no longer have mental strength and you have to admit to yourself that it is the end. There is no more purpose to rise as a phoenix- too much ash is in these wings, they are more and more black of every new breakdown. There is another one, last fire.
I'm looking at this fire in front of me. Everything that I ever wanted to say is written in the notebooks next to me, I simply don't know what to add. I don't matter, neither my works, we will never be important to someone like my favorite musicians were to me, they gave me the inspiration to create, along with that and to live for my works. But, it's over. I didn't get the chance to continue, now I have to get rid of myself. Knowing that it's a the terrible agony to be burnt alive I brought a cyanide pill to quickly fall into a big sleep. I spilled gasoline on myself, put the wood so that they would come to me when they started burning, laid on my notebooks and waited for the wood to burn. As a domino effect the woods burned one by one so I quickly put cyanide in the mouth and began to shiver. The fire comes to me and flared up heavily, covered the artist and her artworks.
It was the last fire for this phoenix, it won't be born anymore.
-DEAD -
If something doesn't interrupts my daydreaming this time I should succeed. Carbon-monoxide slowly filled the room and I started to suffocate, fainted and died. It is not easy to withstand the pain in the body after inhaling something that is not air, but it was worth it.
The normal person of my age is thinking about college, love relationships, friends ... and I'm thinking of this. Even after so many years I'm thinking of one and the same thing. I have dedicated life to my own death.
I usually imagine the "standard" methods, but sometimes I also think of something that is unlikely to do, like harakiri ie seppuku. It's not likely that I would slit my stomach, I have to admit it, I never even made a cut on my stomach ( I only tried it once), let alone to stab with a knife. Not saying that I didn't try, I just failed. While I hold the knife in my hands it happens that I turn it to myself and I try to stab a body, only having a "hard hand" that stiffens and stops me. Sometimes I imagine a sharp blade that quickly cross over my neck or to stab the blade into the heart, it is unlikely that I will succees once. Never say never, not during a nervous breakdown.
The electric shock never represented a suicide method to me, especially because I'm scared of lightings. I've been had electric shocks several times, I felt a spasm in the heart once, wouldn't really once again go through this feeling when body in a strange contraction combined with pain. Don't be surprised, therefore, if you see me afraid of lightning and flash, these are some childhood fears.
From the totally crazy methods I think of climbing on the mountain and yodel until the avalanche moves towards me and covers me. Of course I am not serious, it would take too long, I'd die from hypothermia before it. I am serious for yodeling, but I still better go with aria "Queen of the Night" ,it would be a perfect acoustics until a few tons of snow doesn't interrupt my performance. Good, that's insane anyway.
One of the most expensive ways is paying a professional killer to do all the work. There's certainly a lot of ads on the dark web, but it would cost less to do it myself, anyway it would be obvious that I don't have the will to live. It would be a great idea if I wanted to conceal my suicide, but I have no reason to do so. Here people don't believe that a younger person can suffer from depression and anxiety (let alone other less known disorders) and that they can end up their own lives because of it. I think it is odd that something that happens so often is such a controversial thing that is pushed under a carpet. If a member of a family in such a community commits suicide it remains as a mark to the whole family, something by which they recognize as a person. Some people are known by occupation, some by places of origin or residence and some unfortunates by suicide. Human insensivity is so sad.
Thinking leads me to my panic fear of the nudity, which makes me think again of the autopsy. I know, I would be dead and who cares, but my body is just mine and even as corpse I don't want to be on the autopsy table, I would even reject a surgery. This thought made me think about an overseas trip where I can jump from the ship or jumping into an active volcano. Theoretically it makes sense, it's practically more complicated, especially because of the price of that trip. The local river is much closer, but they would find my body and examine the cause of death, which is precisely what I would like to avoid. Knowing myself, what could be found are scars, probably alcohol, possibly some pills and the most horrible body on the planet. I ask myself how a female person can have such an ugly body, even the hair can't alleviate this disaster.
As far as ways of committing are concerned there are many variations, especially when selecting methods and locations. There are so many poisons in this world, many ways to hurt the body, a lot of things that can serve to choke. Some are more efficient, others are just the way to smaller or worse injuries. For example, cyanide is an extremely strong poison and small doses could be found in cherry's core and apple seeds, but this doesn't mean that a handful of seeds would kill someone. Paracetamol can cause damage to the liver and cause painful death, to someone even 500mg can be bad, I didn't personally had a problems with the dose of more than 3000 mg. The fall from the second floor is unlikely to kill an average person, but there would certainly be a consequences, person in bad condition might even die. Allegedly, the bubble of the air in the body can choke the artery and lead to death, which is possible when a greater amount of air is injected, but I injected as much as it stays in the syringe, while the injection of the fluid was painful (who knows how much would hurt someone with a normal sense for pain?) It was barely possible to move my arm. Suffocation ... it almost killed me. It took many times that the cord or tape brings close to death, but the head was accustomed after a while to a high pulsation, tongue's seizure and pressure in the head, especially in the eyes, and you find yourself in a half-conscious state releasing cord before Death comes, because muscle strength disappears. The solid support works a little differently, so I don't release it, but it didn't go neither. For this reason, I also took alcohol, realizing that this might be a missing link in the morbid circle, because it has a sleeping effect. Sometimes I have a scar on the neck that is visible, but it heals faster than the scars on my arm. Luckily, I know to hide it.
Evening, the hardest part of the day. Solitude, the hardest part of eternity. I'm staring at my ceiling,wondering is it worth trying more years if it's going to end this way anyway. Can life be even more meaningless? Birth, life, death. Over and over again.
The bridge is in my dreams, somehow a standard part of them. For some people it means moving to new things or gateway to a new life path, for me it is the end of my life. Someone else is on the bridge, some unknown person, on the other side of the fence. People are coming up, they make a comments, some are scared, some are angry, some are evil but nobody comes to save the person. As I got closer I moved to the other side of the fence and, giving my hand to the person, I said, "You will not be alone where you go. If you go behind this fence you may find recovery, well-being, people who care about you. If you want to go ahead, I'll keep you by your hand not to be alone, to have a friend who understands your pain. Whatever you decide, you're not the only one."
So many people stood on the edge and nobody did anything. So many people ended their lives today, not even thinking that in the different place someone feels the same as they do. That's why I still make things like this - not because of selfishness and self-absorption, but because I'm not the only one walking through life like a zombie, waiting for the day D. The Day of Death. Many of us are in this world.
The person caught me by the arm and then we jumped together in the river where the end was waiting for us, but there was also the end of my dream. I'm staring back to the ceiling. Clock is ticking. The time passes. Life is passable.
The hardest way to end this life would be to wait. It would take longer than my soul can bear, so I don't think it would work on long runs. It's the only way that can't be controlled or planned, it just scares me with its unpredictability because you are forced to look how it takes other people around you and you can't do anything. It would be another reason why I want to go before them, it's hard to watch people you know disappearing. If she doesn't come to me first I will always know how I will come to her- Death and I will nevertheless unite one day ...
The end
11/19/2017
Suzana Ristic Suza
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11/19/2017
Suzana Ristic Suza
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DISCUSSION
The idea for a story was created in August or September, but due to too much work there was no time to write it, I did it at the end of October till the end of November. The new thing is that instead of being called "Chapter" each new part of the story has a special name. Here are combined sarcasm, pessimism, anger and fear, so this dictated my writing style. Now, the usual depressive phase in October wasn't a problem, on the contrary, it gave the weight of the story, but it would nevertheless be difficult to understand because of the extremely subjective point of view.
As for the story itself, what comes first is the title, both of the story and its chapters. Each of them suggests how a person from the story will die, but the point of the story is what leads to it. Each of the twelve deaths is described as a suicide, which can be seen after several parts, the reasons are different, but in some places they intertwine.
Therefore, the summary (reason) of each part is:
1. DROWNED - Depression
2. CRUSHED - Friendship problems
3. CUT - Low self-confidence
4. FROZEN - Emotional coldness
5. HIT- A laughter at school
6. CROSSED - Poor material situation
7. POISONED - Nostalgia
8. HUNG - Family problems
9. INJECTED - Anxiety
10. STARVED - Behavior of society / mankind
11.SHOT - Holiday depression
12.BURNT - Loss of hope in goals
1. DROWNED - Depression
2. CRUSHED - Friendship problems
3. CUT - Low self-confidence
4. FROZEN - Emotional coldness
5. HIT- A laughter at school
6. CROSSED - Poor material situation
7. POISONED - Nostalgia
8. HUNG - Family problems
9. INJECTED - Anxiety
10. STARVED - Behavior of society / mankind
11.SHOT - Holiday depression
12.BURNT - Loss of hope in goals
The thirteenth part, depending on the perspective, may have a reason, but this is not specifically stated.
The names were accidentally made, at least the first few, they were supposed to end with -ED (it's -NA in Serbian version) but English past tenses have exceptions (that used to be my nightmare, so many verbs to learn, I still know to make mistakes in that), except the last one that responded in my the head.
I wrote about some topics before, after all, I can't change the past, but life can't fit into one story. Of course, because of privacy, both my own and the people I mention, I didn't go into details, I respect the ethics code and I don't want to interfere on someone else's privacy.
Drowned: In the first story, I took the dream that I had several weeks before the beginning of the writing, where I go to the river and stand by it with the intention of drowning in it. The topic is depression, the motives from the story "Crushed" are intertwined because it is talked about solitude, but mostly the whole had a depression as a motive. Judging by the fact how much this damn thing destroys my life, the three sides are few, but I have already written about it in other stories and I wouldn't add too much on this topic now. Part with suicide is the longest of all thirteen, with the most details, later I kept the details to a minimum and there was no scene of finding a corpse (except in the "Hung" and "Starved"). I planned that all stories be like that, in the meantime it really wasn't necessary to insert it into all the stories, because it is assumed that the reaction to corpse is shock, sorrow, crying ... It would be redundant to write about it. Except the story "Crashed" there is a motive of the mirror from the story "Cut", that part inspired me for that story.
Crashed: The story is inspired by thinking, but at the time of writing I don't have a driver's license and I don't know how to drive, although I wouldn't slam the car in vain. The story is full of rage and sarcasm, which is completely opposite from "Drowned". Otherwise it wouldn't be one of the reasons, but during the year there was a problem about the last person in the story because things turned out a little different, so then I felt guilty and I can't forgive myself for it. I apologized, she said she's not angry, but I will still feel guilty of it because I hate to not help someone when I wish to. However, that is my mistake I admit and during the story are mentioned other people, especially one specific person with whom I was supposed to stop being friend with. I don't hide that I am hard tempered (I am not really social person as you may have noticed and that may annoy some people,but I'm trying to pay attention to person as much I can, even through I'm a loner), but I don't know why I stayed with the person that saw only funny person in me, I hope she has found some company that will fit her more and will forget me. I would also like to I forget her and to one day, when reading this again and the story that follows soon, tell myself that it doesn't matter to me anymore, but at least I learned a lesson what I don't need in my life and what kind of people don't suit me in the long run. There are motives from "Broken", potentially from "Drowned "and "Cut".
Cut: The idea of the beginning and ending scene came from the part "Drowned", the rest speaks of the low self-confidence that goes hand in hand with me. This describes a overweight, anorexia, a bulimia (it took two months and it just began, I'm glad I got out on time, but sometimes I get back to it. Nothing serious.). The main part of the losing of a self-confidence wasn't the weight in itself but the mocking because of it, it is being added in several parts because the whole childhood I was "fat"- obviously I wasn't a creature with emotions, nor did my problems matter, nor did I dare to fall in love with anyone or anything else, I felt like I was less worth and that all the nice things were reserved for the skinny ones. I thought that I didn't deserve to be like the others and that I will be worthy of all that only when I lose weight, but anorexia convinced me that even then I wasn't worth anything, only gave me a false feeling that I beat all those who were laughing to me. Yes... if victory means "when you stand next to the window or the stairs on the first floor of the school and wonder if the fall would have killed you since the body is anyway weak". Anyway, such thinking since childhood has left me with consequences, so this is one of the the most difficult stories from the collection, especially since this ridicule has been transferred to other things, for example dressing. In order to hide my body, I became obsessed with hiding as much as possible, and for people it is strange because they can't mind their own business, I am very sensitive to such things and I can't ignore them, I would like to be able to. Who would say that such a small thing like weight can make people treat you as a fool and ruin your life? Matching motives: "Broken" "Drowned" "Injected" "Burned"
Frozen: I was inspired by my song from the end of 2012 for the way of committing (nothing to do with one of my favourite movies ever, I swear, nor with the Within Temptation song ;) ). Theme is a lack of feelings and anxiety with the expression of emotions. In the year of writing I lost a lot of animals and this broke me even more. With this, there is also a part about my love feelings, that is the lack of them and lack of interest for intimacy. Who knows, maybe somewhere in me such feelings exist, I have never given much importance to such things, because it comes to the fact that I don't want to do that. During the 2018, I've dealt with this topic, but eventually it turned out that maybe I'm really not for such things. Matching motives: "Drowned", "Hung" (start), "Cut"
Broken: In one of the following stories I dealt with this topic and managed to partially "overwhelm" what is troubling me in this story. In my original discussion it was still a tough topic, now I know that going to the anniversary of the graduation may have been good so that others would see that I am (now) a different person than the one they most likely thought of me and that I have no need to feel bad if I didn't make a mistake. However, the person I hit in the story would be a problem, she would hardly leave me alone, although I wouldn't hit her in reality, I'm not so violent - I would simply go back to the room or something. I was furious when I wrote it, but nevertheless it encouraged me to think about this topic and at least solve that problem in my life. At the time of writing I have already become addicted to alcohol, I have been drinking a lot and it usually was strong alcohol, so in several stories from the period 2016-2018 can be seen a greater use of it. At present I don't drink,we'll see how long it will hold me ;) Motives of matching: "Crashed", "Cut", "Crossed", "Injected"
Crossed: Again, the way of execution is inspired by one of my songs. The theme has been very difficult for me, I don't like to talk and write about the material situation, far from being embarrassed, I'm just used to living the way I live without someone else's interference and pity, I will keep some things for myself because it's not very right place to write about it. Yes, we had to move out because the neighbors became unbearable and with that one of the lawyers took advantage of the situation and made a deceit to take our money, he even persecuted us after moving because my father allegedly insulted him (my dad was talking on the street with someone that he had bad experiences with lawyers, lawyer heard it and made it like someone was insulting him) and some other people had problems with that lawyer too. And so, until somebody finally does something, the gentleman will sit at his palace and we will try to somehow finish the house where we had to accommodate because we had no choice after we moved in mid-February, we will be afraid whether he will begin to persecute us again (as if there are more things to take from us, they have been bothered us for the past fifteen years, I'm sick of all of this). This is just a part of that story, but I'm stopping here, these are complicated things. Matching motives: "Drowned", "Broken"
Poisoned: I was afraid of writing this story because of the remembrance of the house I was living in. That topic always makes me cry and breaks from inside and I can't mitigate it with anything. Any dreaming of a house is killing me from the inside, I don't know where I am anymore since moving away, as I'm no longer on this planet, not to be in a place I know from childhood. I reminded myself of some of the memories that were in a more positive memory, I suppressed many things and then it was hard to remember something. Honestly, most of the events from my life I don't remember myself, I can only remember some things through writing. Matching motives: "Drowned"
Hung: This is a little tricky. I don't usually mention the family in the stories, I consider it to be a privacy, but here it was necessary. As in "Crossed" I didn't present all the details here, I kept the basics. The first and only story that doesn't begins with the preparation for a suicide. Matching motives: "Cut", "Frozen", "Crossed"
Injected: Written in confusion, I didn't have an anxiety attack at a given moment but I tried to describe that feeling. Never before I injected drugs into the body, it was written exclusively because of the story, nor did I use any of the heavier drugs except sedatives and a combination of pills and alcohol. Knowing myself it's smarter to not start at all, such a things quickly lose control with me. The matching motives: "Broken", "Cut"
Starved: I wanted to write briefly the view of the world from my own point of view, referring to inequality among people, whether in material, racial, religious terms, and the behavior of some people towards animals. I would add a lot of things, that's what came to mind in that moment. Matching motives: "Frozen "," Crossed "
Shot: A story about the overestimation of (winter) holidays, the crazy spending of money and the excessive use of pyrotechnics. I used more sarcasm than melancholy, in the last few years that whole mess has been more annoying than it puts me into despair as before.Motives of matching: "Drowned "," Hung "
Burned: I was afraid to believe it, it represents my real end. This is perhaps the hardest story for me, it talks about giving up goals that keep me in alive. I hope I will do more, but I'm afraid that in the end it will still be like this. Matching motives: "Crossed", "Cut"
Dead: It shows thinking (no, it's better to say the fixed ideas) about different methods, shows that all of us are going to die regardless of waiting for death or hyrring to meet it, shows that we are not alone in our thought. The story has the name "Dead" and in fact it is the only story without dying, it says that death is waiting for us in any case. In deeper meaning it is most depressing than all 13, since it is much more difficult to watch those who mean to us to disappear than our own disappearing.
20.10-20.11.2017
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