There’s Art in Apart

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I promised myself I’d stop overthinking. Because when I do that, usually there’s one thought or one feeling that ends up lingering at the edge of my mind. Isn’t that a sign of depression? Thinking of one thing over and over again like a vicious cycle. Well, I couldn’t help it. I was sitting around daydreaming as usual when this thought hit me.

There’s Art in Apart.

Isn’t that why we’re all so appealed by Tragedies? Take any good piece of literature, a famous artist or the million songs about Heartbreak. Let it be a separation of bodies, or mind, total isolation or falling apart, it’s the sadness that tempts us. It is the pain that we find exquisite. Maybe that’s just me. The cause behind all insecurities, all self-depreciating thoughts, a simple reason. The Aesthetic in me finds Tragedy beautiful. There’s something lacking in smiles, it would never make me feel as extremely as a tear would. You feel joy only in your heart, but sorrow resonates throughout the whole body.

Isn’t that what Nostalgia is for? Yearning for something long lost. There’s nothing to achieve there and yet we reminisce.

Would Van Gogh be so loved without his insanity, his catastrophic life? He channelled his pain into beauty while his mind was falling apart. From Romeo and Juliet to Wuthering Heights, tell me a story that you love and I’ll show you the heartbreak. The things that touch our heart the most are those that show us the chaos, the longing.

Behind everything exquisite, there existed something beautiful.

                                                                                -Oscar Wilde

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To all the people who say “I’m fine” when they’re not

“How are you?” they ask. But they don’t really want to know.
“I’m fine.” I say. But I’m not. I may never be fine again in my life. I’m sinking all the time, coated in this numbness I can’t escape. Bundles of thoughts, swinging and swaying, an endless cycle of thoughts. Will it ever let me sleep? Help me, I’m trying to say but my voice has already given up, then my soul, then my body. You see those scars I hide, they aren’t birthmarks, nor battlescars I can be proud of. These are evidence of the guilt you see when you look at me. Please look at me. Give me a hand and save me. I think I’m insane feeling things that are not real. I’ve spent days crying alone, curled up on the floor. It’s hard to move, I can’t swallow food, I can’t breathe but you can’t see it on my face.

“How are you?” they ask but don’t listen to what I’m trying to say.
“I’m depressed.” “Nah, you’re just sad.” But I don’t feel sadness, not one that you can overcome anyway. My blood is draining, being replaced with taunts, stares and warnings. NEVER GOOD ENOUGH, ASKING FOR ATTENTION, JUST ANOTHER WEIRDO, WHAT A CREEP! There is this wall around me, saving me, no, caging me. Why can’t I scream and just let it pour out? Will it ever end? Or will it rot everything till there’s no more me left anymore. You think I don’t care about life, that I’m a coward throwing it away, that those sleepless nights are excuses for attention. But what you don’t know is if my heart stopped right now, I wouldn’t feel that either. I’m restless, I’m panicking, no this is NOT A SHOW. I’m nodding my head, not hearing a word being said. I am not a lunatic. How can you understand what I’m feeling when I don’t understand it myself?

Depression isn’t just a state of mind, it’s a real disease. As real as a fever, or HIV. Just more painful, more dangerous. Do you know how a drowning person feels? The agony to not breathe is so strong, you cope with the loss of oxygen until you’re about to lose consciousness. At that point, the body involuntarily takes a breath, that is the “Break point.” That lack of oxygen causes darkness closing in on all sides. The body doesn’t how to die so there’s struggle, desperation and a disbelief. You can easily compare depression with the drowning and sometimes, the end is the same too. You can’t help a depressed person with sympathy but with empathy. Do you ever look at a person and try to figure out what he’s been through? What hurt him, moulded him into what he is? I do. With every single person I meet and try to make them laugh (if only at my own stupidity) because mind-reading isn’t possible yet. But being human and nice towards someone, that we can do and you never know when you’re saving lives just by spreading smiles. The thing about depression is that you can’t see it, so you believe it’s not real, at least not real enough to consult a doctor. In that case, I’ll just ask you can you see God, or cancer? No right. But you believe them to be real. This is what depression is like. As real as you and me (well not me, I’m just a face behind a screen.)

Love, Alex 🙂

Words from my soul made into quotes

I am trying to get back into writing and so you’ll be reading more of these… Poems or quotes. Maybe I’ll even write a story.

Left alone, No tears,
Yet when I hear your name
My eyes water with no shame..

I’ll run a thousand miles
See you through the open skies
And maybe when our worlds collide
We’ll be together.

Walking around like you own the place…
Isn’t the whole earth yours?

He believed in God, hope and humanity.
She believed in him. Continue reading

Raw thoughts… Name it whatever you want.

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A body sinking,
Another dream afloat.
Voices shrieking in the mind;
No sound from the throat.

He Breathes, she sees
Two beings, neither lives
Chest rising and falling
Face blank, agonizing

Narrow thoughts pushing in
Large Crowds,  crawling skin
Clenched jaws,  tight fist
Long nails,  hands thin

And there comes the light
Exploding every inch
Color spectrum  radiates
Fire doesn’t flinch

It’s so dark under that flame
Secrets illuminate
Hunger in those eyes
Fantasy that never satiate

Scared.. No, Terrified!

Lovely people/ Dear readers/ Buddies
Just read this please… 🙂 Also I’m sort of thinking that this is my own Halloween special

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆
Jump up from behind the walls,
Shout and scream in the darkness.
But you can’t scare, who has already been terrified.

Constant pain, physical and emotional,
Sometimes it’s hard to even get up.
That scary cycle of thoughts;
In and out of consciousness.
No your monsters and devils will not be enough,
Enough of hell is already inside her.
Rock bottom is where she’s safe.
No getting up. No getting hurt. Continue reading