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DJFyrewolf36
06-17-2004, 11:34 AM
I found this little tidbit of writing in my old school junk. I remember distinctly that this got me into trouble with an English teacher :rolleyes: . Although, at the time I meant what I was saying this is by NO means what I am feeling now. If you have or are going to read my "Final Journey" post, the same thing applies. Trust me, Im not going anywhere!
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Dear Faceless passerby,

This night I shall ask with tears in my eyes and wounds in my soul, for an angel to carry me into the life hereafter. This night, one like any other, is the night I choose to end my journey in this plane of existence. It is so sad that our lives can be over before they can begin, but sometimes the winds of fate blow us toward the stones, not out to the calming sea.

My love was to the last moment, in the hands of the mortal world. The colors of the rainbow in their varying hues, the sparkle of dew on the spring flowers, the river, speaking, singing the tales of nature will always be a part of my soul. I will hear the call of songbirds on my windowsill on a clear summer dawn. Her song like a teacher, a mentor, a stable foothold in a forever advancing and changing world. Her melodious songs of piece and happiness waking my soul in the frost of the winter morning, her laments of loves lost and lives destroyed leaving me with something to ponder after a restless summer night.

I write only by the light of the candle next to my bedstand. It is so full of magic. I am in awe of its power, its flame consuming the same life force as I. A confrontation it seems, though it is not. The candle gives me light in witch to see by and warmth in witch to live by. I in turn give the candle a place to grow, a place to exist. We share a bond, learning from each other on some level that no one can begin to comprehend.

It is hard to continue now. My eyes are crying endlessly in pain that I do not understand. My shoulders are touched now by the cool caress of deaths angel. I feel myself being drawn to it, the touch hitting every exposed cell, warming them to almost passionate comfort. I close my eyes and I see him behind, I see him in front. His traps can be seen, but I go closer to him anyway, almost as if I cannot exist without his touch. Only he can understand, only he can see my turmoil, only he can kill the demons haunting my dreams at night.

Why is he the only being in creation that can intervene in my behalf? Just as I ask myself this, the answer comes as a question in itself. Why does the candle burn?

My tears are wasted, wasted on frivolous things. No matter how much of my life is shed away onto the polished wood, the soft carpet or even the bathroom tile, my passing will only be met with thoughtless blame and soulless remorse. Oh, I can almost taste the anger behind the pointed fingers, “ It was my fault, No it was yours!” They will blame until their voices creak and strain, they will cry until their grief crushes them.

I do not deny the existence of those who are purely soulless. Bitterness and hate roll off their tongue as effortlessly as a song out of a bluebird’s beak. They find perverse joy in demeaning the souls of men who came before “Well she was a lawless whore, her passing was a blessing.”

Those who exist in constant denial, those who excuse their ill planed lies and thoughtless whims by saying the lord deemed them correct are the true assassins of the human spirit. “It was all a will of god.” How they lie, even to their face in the mirror, is something I wish never to understand. The existence is perverse enough.

I’ve felt all of these rumbles within me, acted on them. I wish I could exist on the fringes, not swim in the melting pot of blood and bile that is human error. The truth is I do, and to criticize these things without seeing and acknowledging that I to am human, would be an evil in itself.

I wished once when I was a small child, for a life I saw in a storybook. My pictures would be printed neatly, nothing outside the lines. My words would be typeset and easy to follow. My sentences would be proper and the lines evenly spaced. It would flow smoothly and come to a concise ending, leaving me full of knowledge and satisfied.

Seeing life though the eyes of a naive child, I would call myself a fool, but I know now I wasn’t.

Life in reality proved to be somewhat different. Life is a script, written in scribbles. There are no pictures to guide you and oftentimes, one cannot distinguish one sentence from another. It has no ending, it just loops around and around in perpetual motion. Life may be a fantasy, though it is rarely ever a storybook.

So much are we caught up in the clutches of perfection’s monstrous shadow, we miss life completely. Our friendships, our loves, our fears and innermost secrets toy ships in the ocean

So few notice these ships, and even fewer stay children long enough to play with them.

A child is born, a child will die, a child will gain knowledge, a child will loose innocence, all in the blink of an eye. Sometimes I think we blink far too often.

Eyes close, ears are shut. No longer the music speaking to us, calming and soothing. Rage consumes us now, and that is what a newborn child hears.

I do not feel rage, I do not feel anger, I do not feel hate. I feel pity, I feel remorse. My soul gone now, my heart broken, I can exist here no longer.

With a pen in my hand this cold night, I shall say goodbye to the world I loved once, I feared once, I understood once.

I was once a part of it, now I am just observing it.



Goodbye.

moosmom
06-17-2004, 11:49 AM
Let's just say it left me speechless! It's very good! When did you write it? Was it during a "dark" period of your life?? Believe me, I've had those so I can relate.

I can actually say that some of the thoughts in it have been my own at times.

Wow!

DJFyrewolf36
06-17-2004, 11:57 AM
At the time I was in a major major bout of depression and rather dissalusioned (sp?) at the time with humanity in general. My writing though comes from the general feel of my surroundings. I find that if I am in cirtian places I write a cirtian way if that makes sense. What was wierd about this is when I wrote the thing I had an assignment due *the next day* for the English class (Junior year of HS) I mentioned earlier. I had spent about four hours staring at my computer TRYING to come up with something and I just could NOT get my brain in gear. I turned on a new age cd to try and kick things into motion and started to Free write *just write stuff at random* on some notebook paper. Next thing I know, three more hours go by and I have several scribbled pages stacked on my desk. What you read is pretty much what I wrote, save for spelling corrections and such. I was happy that I had SOMETHING to turn in but I remembered that it had to be typed :rolleyes: and reading my scribbling at 3 am is rather much a chore. I typed it out and then the guy makes me READ it in front of the class. He sent me to the counselors office afterward...:p

DJFyrewolf36
06-17-2004, 02:02 PM
*bump*

PS: Someone comment lol!!! Ive had a lot of views, but no commentary!

PPS Am I some sort of freak? sheesh...it is fiction after all Im not really this wierd :(

sirrahbed
06-17-2004, 07:27 PM
I commented on your *Last Journey* post - and like this one - it is very dark and hard to comment on. Like the other - I think it is a healthy expression of feelings and NO it does not make you a freak. I think most everyone has frighteningly dark and scary thoughts and that it is normal. The lack of response is likely a fear of what to say - not to worry! Just do not feel badly - people ARE reading! OK? It is often the most talented and creative people who write the most dark and seemingly tormented material. It is an *outlet*.

CatMama78
06-17-2004, 07:33 PM
I honestly think you have a great talent and your words do not frighten me cause I the darkest parts of humans are also beautiful in their own way. The ability to feel and to express it is so much more than most people have. I think you should hone in on these feelings and use them creatively, just like you are. You have a gift to offer to others. You are an artist.

kimlovescats
06-17-2004, 07:37 PM
I'll admit ... I was the first one to post a comment on your other thread.... but then I was afraid that what I said would be taken the wrong way, so I went back and deleted it.

I was not aware that you wrote like this often, so I was concerned for your safety. I felt by what you had written, that maybe you needed to talk with someone like ... right away!!! :eek: ;)

Sorry if I misinterpreted, but I really don't know you at all, and I was just concerned, as I have major depressive illness myself! :rolleyes: :)

Sirrahsim
06-17-2004, 11:05 PM
Honestly, if someone that I knew wrote something like that, and I knew were they lived, I wouldn't hesitate before calling 911 and getting a unit there pronto. Every suicide letter that I've been forced to read for various classes and training sessions has the same tone and that freaks me out a little bit....
you wanted an honest opinion, so that's mine.
On the other hand, if I knew that the person who wrote like that was just using it as a creative outlet and writes such things frequently it would be different.
What am I trying to say? I'm tripping over my words
:rolleyes:
If someone seemed like a normal happy person and suddenly wrote something like that, anyone would be perfectly justified in trying to get that individual professional help. BUT, if that is how you vent your creativity, then more power to you. It really is beautifully written.

DJFyrewolf36
06-18-2004, 11:02 AM
Hey, Thank you guys!!!
If I saw something like this, believe me I would be freaked out a little too if I didn't know any better. Thats why I sort of put that disclaimer on here. This is how I vent and explore the feelings I have. I used to be a cutter, a bad one at that. I got so tired of hurting myself that I had to figure out a way to let these feelings out *because I know its imposible to stop feelings and emotions from happening* in a somewhat healthy manner. I share this stuff because people for some reason really like to read it and I think that sharing this sort of thing lets people *especially people who have felt these feelings too* know that they aren't alone. My biggest fear with depression was that I felt like I was the only person who was depressed. Sometimes it still feels that way, but since being on PT and reading the Withdrawn threads, I realize that this is something that is everywhere and that there IS support from those who have felt the same things.
For that I am truely thankful!!!

And I see by the views that a LOT of people have stopped in to read this. I hope I didn't scare anybody!

moosmom
06-18-2004, 12:08 PM
6 years ago when my Dad was found dead in his apartment, I went into a deeper depression than I had ever been. After all his things were gone and his apartment cleaned out, I began writing. At first it wasn't to create a story, but just as an outlet, to help ease my pain. As my editor said, write till you can't write anymore then keep on writing, as that is where the best comes out.

5 years later, through many tears and awful memories, a story was born. It's title "Message In a Bottle" has a very profound meaning. I've sent it to 4 magazines just recently and am awaiting an answer as to whether or not it'll be published.

My point is, writing helps ease pain. It did for me. I had alot of baggage to unload and it helped me tremendously. I encourage anyone who needs an outlet from their troubles to do the same.

sirrahbed
06-18-2004, 12:18 PM
Originally posted by moosmom
My point is, writing helps ease pain. It did for me. I had alot of baggage to unload and it helped me tremendously. I encourage anyone who needs an outlet from their troubles to do the same.

I agree Donna - for me it is journaling - not anything for others to read - but it sure helps me! If anyone read it, they might want to have me committed:eek:
I hope your writing is published! That would be wonderful. I am really glad to hear that it helped to unload the pain you must have been carrying to some extent!!

moosmom
06-18-2004, 12:24 PM
Thanks Deb. It HAS helped me move on from some of the horrible things that happened when I was a child. That and couseling, that is.

Petluvr013
06-18-2004, 11:59 PM
Fyrewolf...That was an awesome story.
I write poetry, and am a happy person. I have cried 3 times in 3 years. But I write normaly deep and dark poems, some people think i am nuts when they read what i write, but it is just my way of coping with things, when i feel strongly about something i write. Here is a poem that i wrote:
______________________________
I'm Living, But I'm Dead.
For They are lurking in my head.

I cannot cry,
I cannot die.
My veins are running dry.

Goodbye world, They've taken me.
The just couldn't let me be.

They've pulled me down, Into the ground.
Queen of this place, I shall be crowned.

I sit here thinking thoughts of love,
Of memories and worlds above.
________________________________
And I am a cheery happy person. Writing is what some people do, and others use music. Those who yell and scream, are those who don't have a way of venting.

Much Luv!
-Kristin Z.