The "Freeola Customer Forum" forum, which includes Retro Game Reviews, has been archived and is now read-only. You cannot post here or create a new thread or review on this forum.
These thoughts are not contrived.
They do not mean to be, or for any reason should exist of their own purpose. They appear. They vanish. They are simple random thoughts.
And yet remain so misunderstood.
For every day on the planet you are sure to see a sunrise, and a sunset. There are things that must be, things to keep us rolling forward in a stable manner.
But these thoughts are not contrived.
And for where they may have came, and for where they go when they leave, that short time inbetween, or as short as it may seem, is all that perhaps we are truly allowed to ourselves.
The feeling of dignity, strength, confidence in life. But moreso, in beauty, the touch of a fragile world beneath our fingertips. Words spoke almost from the heart, feeling as if the planet could be laid in our arms and rocked to sleep.
And if they really are only for a moment, these feelings are of too much value to give up all hope for. For it cannot and forever will not matter how happy you may have been, for you are simply helpless to the way that you now cannot feel a thing.
And these feelings do occur, and yet they're so quickly denied.
For every child that cried out in help, but perhaps not in as many words. For every soul that couldn't find the hope to even cry.
It's a strange river that carries their souls away. These children, these souls, these people, who not only end their life, but refuse to admit it existed in the first place.
But as obvious as it seems, and as harsh as the river may flow, it cannot help but sometimes, perhaps, glitter in a way that can surely only be truth, and make you ready to believe you want to be carried away. A stream that carries away such hardship. Such fear. Such life.
Maybe it wasn't a bad idea after all, suicide. But only perhaps, surely, understanding certain points.
There was no death to cure pain.
And there certainly was no death to cure confusion, loneliness.
The only thing that death can cure, is life. And in a very simple way of looking at it, perhaps there was more strength to be found in those thoughts which were surely not contrived that may seem.
Because, perhaps, if these thoughts were not exact, if these feelings were not true.. then why must they be there? What part of logic do these facts fall into? Maybe they no more than a balance to vitality.
So one must decide, in the end, that if suicide is not so much of a passing thought... if it cannot be settled, then it must be understood.
And if you can see past the fear, and past the hiding and the direction in which you wish to run, if there is reason for death then perhaps these thoughts can no longer be so random.
And death becomes not only an option, but the option.
The willing and final decision that it is now your time.
To finally end whatever was once started.
And that's the first step.
The next step would send you off balance. The next step was off the chair. The next step would let you fall and hang, the step that would let you fall from the rooftops and past the windows.
Because the next step would be fear, and pain. And now, it really would push you over the edge.
But don't be surprised to find someone holding onto your jacket as you try to step away.
Don't be surprised to find someone refusing to let you lose.
Don't be surprised to find that someone will not let you die.
And don't be surprised to find that, that someone is yourself.
In a world that's tough enough without finding yourself trying to end your own life for no real reason that you can truly understand, you may find yourself worrying that you have done little more than enter a circle that will dominate and control you for the rest of your life.
But I've written this for a simple reason.
These things, this depression, these words and feelings. They come, they go. Like happiness, like love. I have tried to kill myself more times than I have been in love. Perhaps I'm unlucky in that aspect, others may not agree.
But when could you ever possibly feel trapped by the feeling of love? When on earth could you say that laughter will only come around again and again and make you end up feeling empty?
The sunsets and the sunrises, and I know for the rest of my life I will be slipping in and out of depression, sometimes more serious than others, and I know I will get the feeling again of wanting to kill myself. This I understand, and I have to accept.
There is no shining gold medallion for people like me, I guess. There's no award I can pin on my chest to say this is what I must live with. No matter how hard I fought in the past, I know I will once again have to take up arms against myself someday. And for that I know I am far from the only one who has to battle their own thoughts and instincts.
I write this not just because I wanted it to be said, but because I now understand there is more hope to be found than simple words.
My depression will pin me, constantly. It will slow me down to a pace where I find it difficult to believe in anything but escape.
But as long as I have the strength to fall, then I have the strength to rise again.
The feeling passes, but laughter will always continue to exist.
I hope what I've written will be of any help if you also find yourself slipping in and out of feeling suicidal or without hope.
Because maybe it does trap us, and force us to live a life very differently. But I guess it's important to understand we still have a large amount of life to control, and it's what we do with the part we're given, that really matters.
Don't do drugs kids, if you managed to plough through this for some ungodly reason, well, thanks for reading.
They do not mean to be, or for any reason should exist of their own purpose. They appear. They vanish. They are simple random thoughts.
And yet remain so misunderstood.
For every day on the planet you are sure to see a sunrise, and a sunset. There are things that must be, things to keep us rolling forward in a stable manner.
But these thoughts are not contrived.
And for where they may have came, and for where they go when they leave, that short time inbetween, or as short as it may seem, is all that perhaps we are truly allowed to ourselves.
The feeling of dignity, strength, confidence in life. But moreso, in beauty, the touch of a fragile world beneath our fingertips. Words spoke almost from the heart, feeling as if the planet could be laid in our arms and rocked to sleep.
And if they really are only for a moment, these feelings are of too much value to give up all hope for. For it cannot and forever will not matter how happy you may have been, for you are simply helpless to the way that you now cannot feel a thing.
And these feelings do occur, and yet they're so quickly denied.
For every child that cried out in help, but perhaps not in as many words. For every soul that couldn't find the hope to even cry.
It's a strange river that carries their souls away. These children, these souls, these people, who not only end their life, but refuse to admit it existed in the first place.
But as obvious as it seems, and as harsh as the river may flow, it cannot help but sometimes, perhaps, glitter in a way that can surely only be truth, and make you ready to believe you want to be carried away. A stream that carries away such hardship. Such fear. Such life.
Maybe it wasn't a bad idea after all, suicide. But only perhaps, surely, understanding certain points.
There was no death to cure pain.
And there certainly was no death to cure confusion, loneliness.
The only thing that death can cure, is life. And in a very simple way of looking at it, perhaps there was more strength to be found in those thoughts which were surely not contrived that may seem.
Because, perhaps, if these thoughts were not exact, if these feelings were not true.. then why must they be there? What part of logic do these facts fall into? Maybe they no more than a balance to vitality.
So one must decide, in the end, that if suicide is not so much of a passing thought... if it cannot be settled, then it must be understood.
And if you can see past the fear, and past the hiding and the direction in which you wish to run, if there is reason for death then perhaps these thoughts can no longer be so random.
And death becomes not only an option, but the option.
The willing and final decision that it is now your time.
To finally end whatever was once started.
And that's the first step.
The next step would send you off balance. The next step was off the chair. The next step would let you fall and hang, the step that would let you fall from the rooftops and past the windows.
Because the next step would be fear, and pain. And now, it really would push you over the edge.
But don't be surprised to find someone holding onto your jacket as you try to step away.
Don't be surprised to find someone refusing to let you lose.
Don't be surprised to find that someone will not let you die.
And don't be surprised to find that, that someone is yourself.
In a world that's tough enough without finding yourself trying to end your own life for no real reason that you can truly understand, you may find yourself worrying that you have done little more than enter a circle that will dominate and control you for the rest of your life.
But I've written this for a simple reason.
These things, this depression, these words and feelings. They come, they go. Like happiness, like love. I have tried to kill myself more times than I have been in love. Perhaps I'm unlucky in that aspect, others may not agree.
But when could you ever possibly feel trapped by the feeling of love? When on earth could you say that laughter will only come around again and again and make you end up feeling empty?
The sunsets and the sunrises, and I know for the rest of my life I will be slipping in and out of depression, sometimes more serious than others, and I know I will get the feeling again of wanting to kill myself. This I understand, and I have to accept.
There is no shining gold medallion for people like me, I guess. There's no award I can pin on my chest to say this is what I must live with. No matter how hard I fought in the past, I know I will once again have to take up arms against myself someday. And for that I know I am far from the only one who has to battle their own thoughts and instincts.
I write this not just because I wanted it to be said, but because I now understand there is more hope to be found than simple words.
My depression will pin me, constantly. It will slow me down to a pace where I find it difficult to believe in anything but escape.
But as long as I have the strength to fall, then I have the strength to rise again.
The feeling passes, but laughter will always continue to exist.
I hope what I've written will be of any help if you also find yourself slipping in and out of feeling suicidal or without hope.
Because maybe it does trap us, and force us to live a life very differently. But I guess it's important to understand we still have a large amount of life to control, and it's what we do with the part we're given, that really matters.
Don't do drugs kids, if you managed to plough through this for some ungodly reason, well, thanks for reading.
Page:
There have been no replies to this thread yet.
These thoughts are not contrived.
They do not mean to be, or for any reason should exist of their own purpose. They appear. They vanish. They are simple random thoughts.
And yet remain so misunderstood.
For every day on the planet you are sure to see a sunrise, and a sunset. There are things that must be, things to keep us rolling forward in a stable manner.
But these thoughts are not contrived.
And for where they may have came, and for where they go when they leave, that short time inbetween, or as short as it may seem, is all that perhaps we are truly allowed to ourselves.
The feeling of dignity, strength, confidence in life. But moreso, in beauty, the touch of a fragile world beneath our fingertips. Words spoke almost from the heart, feeling as if the planet could be laid in our arms and rocked to sleep.
And if they really are only for a moment, these feelings are of too much value to give up all hope for. For it cannot and forever will not matter how happy you may have been, for you are simply helpless to the way that you now cannot feel a thing.
And these feelings do occur, and yet they're so quickly denied.
For every child that cried out in help, but perhaps not in as many words. For every soul that couldn't find the hope to even cry.
It's a strange river that carries their souls away. These children, these souls, these people, who not only end their life, but refuse to admit it existed in the first place.
But as obvious as it seems, and as harsh as the river may flow, it cannot help but sometimes, perhaps, glitter in a way that can surely only be truth, and make you ready to believe you want to be carried away. A stream that carries away such hardship. Such fear. Such life.
Maybe it wasn't a bad idea after all, suicide. But only perhaps, surely, understanding certain points.
There was no death to cure pain.
And there certainly was no death to cure confusion, loneliness.
The only thing that death can cure, is life. And in a very simple way of looking at it, perhaps there was more strength to be found in those thoughts which were surely not contrived that may seem.
Because, perhaps, if these thoughts were not exact, if these feelings were not true.. then why must they be there? What part of logic do these facts fall into? Maybe they no more than a balance to vitality.
So one must decide, in the end, that if suicide is not so much of a passing thought... if it cannot be settled, then it must be understood.
And if you can see past the fear, and past the hiding and the direction in which you wish to run, if there is reason for death then perhaps these thoughts can no longer be so random.
And death becomes not only an option, but the option.
The willing and final decision that it is now your time.
To finally end whatever was once started.
And that's the first step.
The next step would send you off balance. The next step was off the chair. The next step would let you fall and hang, the step that would let you fall from the rooftops and past the windows.
Because the next step would be fear, and pain. And now, it really would push you over the edge.
But don't be surprised to find someone holding onto your jacket as you try to step away.
Don't be surprised to find someone refusing to let you lose.
Don't be surprised to find that someone will not let you die.
And don't be surprised to find that, that someone is yourself.
In a world that's tough enough without finding yourself trying to end your own life for no real reason that you can truly understand, you may find yourself worrying that you have done little more than enter a circle that will dominate and control you for the rest of your life.
But I've written this for a simple reason.
These things, this depression, these words and feelings. They come, they go. Like happiness, like love. I have tried to kill myself more times than I have been in love. Perhaps I'm unlucky in that aspect, others may not agree.
But when could you ever possibly feel trapped by the feeling of love? When on earth could you say that laughter will only come around again and again and make you end up feeling empty?
The sunsets and the sunrises, and I know for the rest of my life I will be slipping in and out of depression, sometimes more serious than others, and I know I will get the feeling again of wanting to kill myself. This I understand, and I have to accept.
There is no shining gold medallion for people like me, I guess. There's no award I can pin on my chest to say this is what I must live with. No matter how hard I fought in the past, I know I will once again have to take up arms against myself someday. And for that I know I am far from the only one who has to battle their own thoughts and instincts.
I write this not just because I wanted it to be said, but because I now understand there is more hope to be found than simple words.
My depression will pin me, constantly. It will slow me down to a pace where I find it difficult to believe in anything but escape.
But as long as I have the strength to fall, then I have the strength to rise again.
The feeling passes, but laughter will always continue to exist.
I hope what I've written will be of any help if you also find yourself slipping in and out of feeling suicidal or without hope.
Because maybe it does trap us, and force us to live a life very differently. But I guess it's important to understand we still have a large amount of life to control, and it's what we do with the part we're given, that really matters.
Don't do drugs kids, if you managed to plough through this for some ungodly reason, well, thanks for reading.
They do not mean to be, or for any reason should exist of their own purpose. They appear. They vanish. They are simple random thoughts.
And yet remain so misunderstood.
For every day on the planet you are sure to see a sunrise, and a sunset. There are things that must be, things to keep us rolling forward in a stable manner.
But these thoughts are not contrived.
And for where they may have came, and for where they go when they leave, that short time inbetween, or as short as it may seem, is all that perhaps we are truly allowed to ourselves.
The feeling of dignity, strength, confidence in life. But moreso, in beauty, the touch of a fragile world beneath our fingertips. Words spoke almost from the heart, feeling as if the planet could be laid in our arms and rocked to sleep.
And if they really are only for a moment, these feelings are of too much value to give up all hope for. For it cannot and forever will not matter how happy you may have been, for you are simply helpless to the way that you now cannot feel a thing.
And these feelings do occur, and yet they're so quickly denied.
For every child that cried out in help, but perhaps not in as many words. For every soul that couldn't find the hope to even cry.
It's a strange river that carries their souls away. These children, these souls, these people, who not only end their life, but refuse to admit it existed in the first place.
But as obvious as it seems, and as harsh as the river may flow, it cannot help but sometimes, perhaps, glitter in a way that can surely only be truth, and make you ready to believe you want to be carried away. A stream that carries away such hardship. Such fear. Such life.
Maybe it wasn't a bad idea after all, suicide. But only perhaps, surely, understanding certain points.
There was no death to cure pain.
And there certainly was no death to cure confusion, loneliness.
The only thing that death can cure, is life. And in a very simple way of looking at it, perhaps there was more strength to be found in those thoughts which were surely not contrived that may seem.
Because, perhaps, if these thoughts were not exact, if these feelings were not true.. then why must they be there? What part of logic do these facts fall into? Maybe they no more than a balance to vitality.
So one must decide, in the end, that if suicide is not so much of a passing thought... if it cannot be settled, then it must be understood.
And if you can see past the fear, and past the hiding and the direction in which you wish to run, if there is reason for death then perhaps these thoughts can no longer be so random.
And death becomes not only an option, but the option.
The willing and final decision that it is now your time.
To finally end whatever was once started.
And that's the first step.
The next step would send you off balance. The next step was off the chair. The next step would let you fall and hang, the step that would let you fall from the rooftops and past the windows.
Because the next step would be fear, and pain. And now, it really would push you over the edge.
But don't be surprised to find someone holding onto your jacket as you try to step away.
Don't be surprised to find someone refusing to let you lose.
Don't be surprised to find that someone will not let you die.
And don't be surprised to find that, that someone is yourself.
In a world that's tough enough without finding yourself trying to end your own life for no real reason that you can truly understand, you may find yourself worrying that you have done little more than enter a circle that will dominate and control you for the rest of your life.
But I've written this for a simple reason.
These things, this depression, these words and feelings. They come, they go. Like happiness, like love. I have tried to kill myself more times than I have been in love. Perhaps I'm unlucky in that aspect, others may not agree.
But when could you ever possibly feel trapped by the feeling of love? When on earth could you say that laughter will only come around again and again and make you end up feeling empty?
The sunsets and the sunrises, and I know for the rest of my life I will be slipping in and out of depression, sometimes more serious than others, and I know I will get the feeling again of wanting to kill myself. This I understand, and I have to accept.
There is no shining gold medallion for people like me, I guess. There's no award I can pin on my chest to say this is what I must live with. No matter how hard I fought in the past, I know I will once again have to take up arms against myself someday. And for that I know I am far from the only one who has to battle their own thoughts and instincts.
I write this not just because I wanted it to be said, but because I now understand there is more hope to be found than simple words.
My depression will pin me, constantly. It will slow me down to a pace where I find it difficult to believe in anything but escape.
But as long as I have the strength to fall, then I have the strength to rise again.
The feeling passes, but laughter will always continue to exist.
I hope what I've written will be of any help if you also find yourself slipping in and out of feeling suicidal or without hope.
Because maybe it does trap us, and force us to live a life very differently. But I guess it's important to understand we still have a large amount of life to control, and it's what we do with the part we're given, that really matters.
Don't do drugs kids, if you managed to plough through this for some ungodly reason, well, thanks for reading.
Page: