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This is not an entirely unfamiliar feeling. The conflict of my senses, the growing sense of darkness swelling in my chest, the urge to scream.
It's a wonderful life, so they say. Why then, does every second hurt so much? Why can I feel the world eroding around me as though beseiged with leprosy? Why am I overcome with a need to destroy what little sense is left to me?
I'm not young, oh it's way beyond time I shed that foolish notion. How much time is left to me? What can I hope to achieve now when once again I am forced back to the starting lines? What happiness can I feel against the oppressive surge of misery that increasingly defines my existence?
Pride forbids me from calling for help, from admitting my own failings. The boiling fury that rages beneath my skin instead insists on hurling blame at those that have abandoned and betrayed me. The subsequent personal renaissance, should such a thing be possible at this stage, requires near complete revolution. An expectant metamorphosis resulting from the current retreat into my demonic chysalis. The hole in my heart I've withdrawn into too many times before, and every time I come out, there is a little less of me that returns from the void.
The temptation is to ponder what it is that I could have done to deserve the feelings that currently press weightily on my mind. But I've asked this of myself too many times, and I'm either asking the wrong questions, or otherwise I'm thoroughly dissatisfied with the answers.
I'm at the weakest I've ever been now. Beyond depression, self-loathing, beyond even despair. The crumbling of what was once a promising existence in spite of my previous sufferings making itself felt in unprecedented bouts of emotional outpouring. Never before has the mention of love brought tears to my eyes. The sight of children, the mention of parental pride. Even random moments of introspection - unbidden and unfettered in a mind lacking the will to impose control - shatter the barriers and bring me to my knees, if only for a few moments at a time.
I've shed more tears in these last few weeks than I ever have in the last half of my life, a period during which I have suffered multiple depressive bouts, enacted self-harm, seriously pondered suicide.
I am in ruins now. A broken hollow in a sense more vivid and desperate than I have ever before experienced. Perhaps this is the price I pay. For what, I do not know. Despite this, my previous thoughts of suicide have not resurfaced. That folly is past, and my desire for life, even in this form; a shattered and trodden object of pity.
All I know is that I must build my life anew, from fresh foundations. The task daunts me and brings hot tears boiling down my cheeks once again, but what else can I do? Moreover, where do I start?
Oh, to have an easy solution! To be able to close my eyes and open them again to find it was all a dream, and that life isn't cruel and terrible. But perhaps this has been my problem all along.
I'm falling into myself once again, as I have so many times before. Only this time I'm falling so fast it makes me dizzy. I'd thought myself beyond this. Years of suffering had built impenetrable barriers as effective as they were a restriction on my sentimentality. But somewhere along my tragic road, the barriers came down, and now with it fall the walls of reality.
There's so much more I have to say, so much hate, fear and misery that I could pour into this keyboard. But I ask myself what purpose this confession serves. What is the goal? What's the point.
Maybe I'll continue later.
It's a wonderful life, so they say. Why then, does every second hurt so much? Why can I feel the world eroding around me as though beseiged with leprosy? Why am I overcome with a need to destroy what little sense is left to me?
I'm not young, oh it's way beyond time I shed that foolish notion. How much time is left to me? What can I hope to achieve now when once again I am forced back to the starting lines? What happiness can I feel against the oppressive surge of misery that increasingly defines my existence?
Pride forbids me from calling for help, from admitting my own failings. The boiling fury that rages beneath my skin instead insists on hurling blame at those that have abandoned and betrayed me. The subsequent personal renaissance, should such a thing be possible at this stage, requires near complete revolution. An expectant metamorphosis resulting from the current retreat into my demonic chysalis. The hole in my heart I've withdrawn into too many times before, and every time I come out, there is a little less of me that returns from the void.
The temptation is to ponder what it is that I could have done to deserve the feelings that currently press weightily on my mind. But I've asked this of myself too many times, and I'm either asking the wrong questions, or otherwise I'm thoroughly dissatisfied with the answers.
I'm at the weakest I've ever been now. Beyond depression, self-loathing, beyond even despair. The crumbling of what was once a promising existence in spite of my previous sufferings making itself felt in unprecedented bouts of emotional outpouring. Never before has the mention of love brought tears to my eyes. The sight of children, the mention of parental pride. Even random moments of introspection - unbidden and unfettered in a mind lacking the will to impose control - shatter the barriers and bring me to my knees, if only for a few moments at a time.
I've shed more tears in these last few weeks than I ever have in the last half of my life, a period during which I have suffered multiple depressive bouts, enacted self-harm, seriously pondered suicide.
I am in ruins now. A broken hollow in a sense more vivid and desperate than I have ever before experienced. Perhaps this is the price I pay. For what, I do not know. Despite this, my previous thoughts of suicide have not resurfaced. That folly is past, and my desire for life, even in this form; a shattered and trodden object of pity.
All I know is that I must build my life anew, from fresh foundations. The task daunts me and brings hot tears boiling down my cheeks once again, but what else can I do? Moreover, where do I start?
Oh, to have an easy solution! To be able to close my eyes and open them again to find it was all a dream, and that life isn't cruel and terrible. But perhaps this has been my problem all along.
I'm falling into myself once again, as I have so many times before. Only this time I'm falling so fast it makes me dizzy. I'd thought myself beyond this. Years of suffering had built impenetrable barriers as effective as they were a restriction on my sentimentality. But somewhere along my tragic road, the barriers came down, and now with it fall the walls of reality.
There's so much more I have to say, so much hate, fear and misery that I could pour into this keyboard. But I ask myself what purpose this confession serves. What is the goal? What's the point.
Maybe I'll continue later.
This is not an entirely unfamiliar feeling. The conflict of my senses, the growing sense of darkness swelling in my chest, the urge to scream.
It's a wonderful life, so they say. Why then, does every second hurt so much? Why can I feel the world eroding around me as though beseiged with leprosy? Why am I overcome with a need to destroy what little sense is left to me?
I'm not young, oh it's way beyond time I shed that foolish notion. How much time is left to me? What can I hope to achieve now when once again I am forced back to the starting lines? What happiness can I feel against the oppressive surge of misery that increasingly defines my existence?
Pride forbids me from calling for help, from admitting my own failings. The boiling fury that rages beneath my skin instead insists on hurling blame at those that have abandoned and betrayed me. The subsequent personal renaissance, should such a thing be possible at this stage, requires near complete revolution. An expectant metamorphosis resulting from the current retreat into my demonic chysalis. The hole in my heart I've withdrawn into too many times before, and every time I come out, there is a little less of me that returns from the void.
The temptation is to ponder what it is that I could have done to deserve the feelings that currently press weightily on my mind. But I've asked this of myself too many times, and I'm either asking the wrong questions, or otherwise I'm thoroughly dissatisfied with the answers.
I'm at the weakest I've ever been now. Beyond depression, self-loathing, beyond even despair. The crumbling of what was once a promising existence in spite of my previous sufferings making itself felt in unprecedented bouts of emotional outpouring. Never before has the mention of love brought tears to my eyes. The sight of children, the mention of parental pride. Even random moments of introspection - unbidden and unfettered in a mind lacking the will to impose control - shatter the barriers and bring me to my knees, if only for a few moments at a time.
I've shed more tears in these last few weeks than I ever have in the last half of my life, a period during which I have suffered multiple depressive bouts, enacted self-harm, seriously pondered suicide.
I am in ruins now. A broken hollow in a sense more vivid and desperate than I have ever before experienced. Perhaps this is the price I pay. For what, I do not know. Despite this, my previous thoughts of suicide have not resurfaced. That folly is past, and my desire for life, even in this form; a shattered and trodden object of pity.
All I know is that I must build my life anew, from fresh foundations. The task daunts me and brings hot tears boiling down my cheeks once again, but what else can I do? Moreover, where do I start?
Oh, to have an easy solution! To be able to close my eyes and open them again to find it was all a dream, and that life isn't cruel and terrible. But perhaps this has been my problem all along.
I'm falling into myself once again, as I have so many times before. Only this time I'm falling so fast it makes me dizzy. I'd thought myself beyond this. Years of suffering had built impenetrable barriers as effective as they were a restriction on my sentimentality. But somewhere along my tragic road, the barriers came down, and now with it fall the walls of reality.
There's so much more I have to say, so much hate, fear and misery that I could pour into this keyboard. But I ask myself what purpose this confession serves. What is the goal? What's the point.
Maybe I'll continue later.
It's a wonderful life, so they say. Why then, does every second hurt so much? Why can I feel the world eroding around me as though beseiged with leprosy? Why am I overcome with a need to destroy what little sense is left to me?
I'm not young, oh it's way beyond time I shed that foolish notion. How much time is left to me? What can I hope to achieve now when once again I am forced back to the starting lines? What happiness can I feel against the oppressive surge of misery that increasingly defines my existence?
Pride forbids me from calling for help, from admitting my own failings. The boiling fury that rages beneath my skin instead insists on hurling blame at those that have abandoned and betrayed me. The subsequent personal renaissance, should such a thing be possible at this stage, requires near complete revolution. An expectant metamorphosis resulting from the current retreat into my demonic chysalis. The hole in my heart I've withdrawn into too many times before, and every time I come out, there is a little less of me that returns from the void.
The temptation is to ponder what it is that I could have done to deserve the feelings that currently press weightily on my mind. But I've asked this of myself too many times, and I'm either asking the wrong questions, or otherwise I'm thoroughly dissatisfied with the answers.
I'm at the weakest I've ever been now. Beyond depression, self-loathing, beyond even despair. The crumbling of what was once a promising existence in spite of my previous sufferings making itself felt in unprecedented bouts of emotional outpouring. Never before has the mention of love brought tears to my eyes. The sight of children, the mention of parental pride. Even random moments of introspection - unbidden and unfettered in a mind lacking the will to impose control - shatter the barriers and bring me to my knees, if only for a few moments at a time.
I've shed more tears in these last few weeks than I ever have in the last half of my life, a period during which I have suffered multiple depressive bouts, enacted self-harm, seriously pondered suicide.
I am in ruins now. A broken hollow in a sense more vivid and desperate than I have ever before experienced. Perhaps this is the price I pay. For what, I do not know. Despite this, my previous thoughts of suicide have not resurfaced. That folly is past, and my desire for life, even in this form; a shattered and trodden object of pity.
All I know is that I must build my life anew, from fresh foundations. The task daunts me and brings hot tears boiling down my cheeks once again, but what else can I do? Moreover, where do I start?
Oh, to have an easy solution! To be able to close my eyes and open them again to find it was all a dream, and that life isn't cruel and terrible. But perhaps this has been my problem all along.
I'm falling into myself once again, as I have so many times before. Only this time I'm falling so fast it makes me dizzy. I'd thought myself beyond this. Years of suffering had built impenetrable barriers as effective as they were a restriction on my sentimentality. But somewhere along my tragic road, the barriers came down, and now with it fall the walls of reality.
There's so much more I have to say, so much hate, fear and misery that I could pour into this keyboard. But I ask myself what purpose this confession serves. What is the goal? What's the point.
Maybe I'll continue later.
I like the part about building your life up again, what exactly is so bad about it? In a literal sense.
Does any relief come from crying?
When I was depressed, the one thing I wanted to do more than anything was to hit rock bottom. To go absolutely down, to go down as far as I possibly could. Several reasons really.
I could never cry. The few times in which I have, it was absolutely intense. Everything poured out of me, every thought, every failed dream and every dream I thought I could never reach. Without the clouds there to protect you, you're kinda faced with the reality of your situation.
So crying helped me to hit rock bottom, and naturally, once you're there, the only way for you to really go is back up. I guess it's a good place to be really.
I kinda believe in balance too. If you can look at something like love, and see it in a way that fills you with tears.. then I think you have the ability to look at love and make it fill you with happiness. I imagine it's not so easy to see that right now.. but it sounds like you're being introduced to some of the hardest things to really deal with.
But be glad of one thing - you still have your emotions. Don't try and force them away because you -WILL- regret it. Embrace them and understand them. If you hide them away it'll take a long time for you to be able to access them at all, and you'll be dry of anything, and it won't just be the pain you hide from, but the love too.
Don't worry too much about rebuilding your life right now. Take time for yourself, and make sure you're building on a solid foundation. In depression, in the darkness you describe, you can find strength. You can find peace, understanding, and hope. Maybe it won't come so naturally, and it certainly won't be an easy ride, but if you're being subjected to such ..I don't know what the word is, perhaps torture, you can understand an awful lot about yourself.
And maybe you'll build yourself up and maybe you'll break down again, but every time you do it, for every house of straw you build, eventually you'll find something solid. Something strong, something good that you can be proud of and something that'll allow you to look at all these things you describe and feel good for it.
I don't really have the answers for you though, and it's definitely something you have to experience yourself.. but hang in there. I'm glad you're not suicidal, but don't let yourself be. I think you're going through a hell of a ride right now and in the end it can make you a very strong person.
But don't be afraid to ask for help if you need it. If it's getting too much, you could see a doctor. They'll be able to help you, if that's what you desire.
Good luck though. Keep us update on how you're feeling.
When I was depressed, the one thing I wanted to do more than anything was to hit rock bottom. To go absolutely down, to go down as far as I possibly could. Several reasons really.
I could never cry. The few times in which I have, it was absolutely intense. Everything poured out of me, every thought, every failed dream and every dream I thought I could never reach. Without the clouds there to protect you, you're kinda faced with the reality of your situation.
So crying helped me to hit rock bottom, and naturally, once you're there, the only way for you to really go is back up. I guess it's a good place to be really.
I kinda believe in balance too. If you can look at something like love, and see it in a way that fills you with tears.. then I think you have the ability to look at love and make it fill you with happiness. I imagine it's not so easy to see that right now.. but it sounds like you're being introduced to some of the hardest things to really deal with.
But be glad of one thing - you still have your emotions. Don't try and force them away because you -WILL- regret it. Embrace them and understand them. If you hide them away it'll take a long time for you to be able to access them at all, and you'll be dry of anything, and it won't just be the pain you hide from, but the love too.
Don't worry too much about rebuilding your life right now. Take time for yourself, and make sure you're building on a solid foundation. In depression, in the darkness you describe, you can find strength. You can find peace, understanding, and hope. Maybe it won't come so naturally, and it certainly won't be an easy ride, but if you're being subjected to such ..I don't know what the word is, perhaps torture, you can understand an awful lot about yourself.
And maybe you'll build yourself up and maybe you'll break down again, but every time you do it, for every house of straw you build, eventually you'll find something solid. Something strong, something good that you can be proud of and something that'll allow you to look at all these things you describe and feel good for it.
I don't really have the answers for you though, and it's definitely something you have to experience yourself.. but hang in there. I'm glad you're not suicidal, but don't let yourself be. I think you're going through a hell of a ride right now and in the end it can make you a very strong person.
But don't be afraid to ask for help if you need it. If it's getting too much, you could see a doctor. They'll be able to help you, if that's what you desire.
Good luck though. Keep us update on how you're feeling.