Personal Narrative: Word Of Hate

The depression is overwhelming. I cry uncontrollably. At its worst, I cannot move. Gravity seems to have added weight tenfold. I wake up in my bed, struggling to get out. I am unable to. Breathing hurts. I try to cry out for help, but I cannot move my mouth to form the words in my disgusted mind. I am trapped in my own head. I am trapped in my own body, a body that is entirely numb.

I am now forced to lie awake, alone and scared, too afraid to sleep, while horrific images intrude my mind, disturbing what little sanity I have left. I feel that I am losing my mind; I am losing control over my body, my thoughts and actions. When I look at my hands, I do not see the once soft, white skin of a noble woman, but the blood-stained hands of a cold blooded killer. I do not know how long I can carry on. Sooner or later I feel that I will snap. Like a rope stretched so tight, its frayed and withered thread cannot bear the stress any longer. My body, seemingly fine, will soon resemble my broken and corrupted mind, as I lie, motionless, on the remorseless earth below. Finally I will find the peace that has escaped me, finally I will not be confined within a mind that has long surrendered all logic, reason and clarity, and will finally be free.

I crippled down into a pit of confusion and sadness. Although this happened often, it always seemed to hit home hard as the months progressed. I arrived home and tossed myself into the soft comfort of my bed. Curled up into a ball, I tightened and released my grip on my white covers repeatedly, my body slowly dozing in and out of slumber as I watched small ripples in the outdoor pool shine upon my bedroom wall, the moonlight brightening it. Slowly the whispers began developing, and I allowed them. I needed to listen, they crowded my mind and maybe they were all right. So, there I sat in the silence. Jabbled words filled the room, they seemed to be everywhere. Woman, children, and men. I tensed at the words, trying to make out what they were telling me. In the background faint noises played, either from past songs the band and I had developed or ones that just kept coming. Threats or sarcastic remarks, occasional words remembered from my parents or enemies. They kept coming, intensifying by the second, getting louder and louder, until the point where... I snapped. I sat up and screamed into the darkness, pulling at my hair and kicking my feet, as if I were having some kind of a toddler tantrum. My breath quickened and my nose wrinkled, like how it always did when I got worked up. Slowly, and then all at once they stopped. My mind gathered in the silence, and I slammed back down into the pillow, turning my head into it, screaming once more until

I think i found my destination. Sheer magnitude of energy arose from my body. I felt unreal. Seriously. Have you ever stop and question your existence. Who am i and why am i here? Detachment and utter numbness of “reality”. This anomalous out-of-body experience rush must means this is the end me? “ Mike i have to go to the hospital i think i'm dying.” I said panicking at my inner experience. I was an onlooker of this universe - at least it seemed. “ Brenda please relax, youre not dying. and stop crying!” he said as he walked me to his car. “ come on, I am going to take you to my house.” . From this moment i knew this isn't what i wanted to

You’d attempted suicide three times. The first time, being the one that landed you here the first time, you miraculously survived. They told you so, too. ‘You shouldn’t have woken up.’, those were the doctors exact words. But you did, and the next few times that occurred within a few weeks of each other only a month after you’d been released weren’t nearly as bad. You knew you wouldn’t die, or be seriously injured for that matter, but all you could think about in those moments was the release from the headaches that plagued you. Alas, you were still here, and your head hurt worse than ever.

I used to see the world behind a lens of insecurity. When you are not comfortable in your own skin, it affects every decision you make. What changed me and saved me from this, however, was my activity in drama productions. I got a very small role in a play during my freshman year, and that prompted me to get more involved over the next few years. I got to learn from upperclassmen and got to see how everything fits into place if everyone works hard for the outcome. During my last two years at a different high school, I sought out more backstage work because the department badly needed it. All my experiences in drama productions have been positive, and all have helped me develop a healthier self image that enables me to focus my energy on other people, instead of myself.

“I am petrified. I feel as if God has abandoned me. I just sat there and watched, quietly, because I had no idea what to do. As if these kind of things are normal for a 10 year old boy to witness. Everyone tells me that “it wasn’t your fault” or that “there was nothing you could have done.” I think I believe them… but the haunting images of my 16 year old brother being beaten to death tell me otherwise. The memories tell me I should have done something to save him. But I didn’t. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about what happened to my best friend and my brother.”

Imagine standing on a roof, envisioning nothing but your limp body laying at the bottom of all those stories, blinded to everything else by the protracted agony of crippling depression. Only someone who has lived this nightmare can explain to an outsider the reason they might jump, or the reason so many die by their own hands pulling a gun trigger or tying a special knot in a rope. Lamently, for 350 million people worldwide, depression is all too-familiar (“Depression”). Even more unfortunate are the treatment options for depression: prescription drugs have troublesome side effects and can be costly, reflecting on the unconscious problems of your life in psychotherapy might prolong feelings of depression, and shock therapies are dangerous

Going into my junior year of cross-country and already making it to state the previous year, there was no way I wasn’t going again. Well, as many people have experienced before me; I was faced with adversity. Now some people decide to hide from it and others seek to conquer the task. I had to choose between the two when I started experiencing growing pains in my right hip.

June 11, 2019; a very dark Wednesday, but also Marissa Fisher’s birthday. As we paraded throughout the halls of Fyvie High School singing “Happy Birthday” to her , then all of a sudden the announcements came on, and we heard our secretary, Ms. Marinate, scream a bloodcurdling cry. She cried out and put the school on lockdown under code red. All at once, the lights in the school turned a soft, faint reddish color, so we ducked into a deserted classroom in the south wing. There we found cover from the gunshots we heard outside. It sounded as if it was coming from somewhere in the west wing.

Imagine hearing everyone you love crying, praying, and begging for you to just open your eyes or move your hand and you are trying your best but your body refuses to do what your brain tells it. It's killing me to hear Dmitri's voice constantly talking to me telling me how sorry he was and how much he loved me. I never thought my brother would be this depressed without me he cried almost every time he came into my room and Shanice was no better even though she tried to be strong she was failing miserably, but the voice I wanted to her the most was my angels. Not hearing Lyric’s sweet voice for so long was killing me, I have no idea how long I've been like this but it feels like forever, all I want is my life back. As soon as my eyes open I

When the endemic of flesh consuming creatures of un-death starts I’ll most likely be at home watching videos on YouTube when I hear of the pandemic of flesh devouring abominations and the first thing I would do is go to the bathroom, plug the bath and turn on the water to created reservoir because clean water will be invaluable not only for survival but for trade as well since I plan to be a trader. Next I would build a secure store room and beef up defenses, if I’m going to be a merchant like I plan I need to keep my things safe and in my possessive I mean why would you trade valuable resources like food, water, ammo, or weapons for thing you could just take so I would team up with or just buy a local group of raiders/militia to protect my

Before I knew what either of the words meant I considered myself a staunch republican. My parents both enjoyed politics; my mom easily getting riled up over talk radio until we told her enough was enough, and my dad, albeit much more quietly, holding fast in his beliefs. The news was on far too much for my liking, and Sunday dinner was only dampened (briefly) when someone let slip their control and brought up Donald Rumsfeld. For me, this amounted to suspiciously eyeing kids wearing anti-Bush tee shirts - they know nothing! All they do is follow their parents. Scoffing, I regretted their ignorance. Now, in the first month of 2016, a newly minted registered voter, I’ve become jaded. Too many times have I hoped and been rewarded no change. The

I stood there helpless, no choice, as I felt the cold blade slowly move across my head. Over and over again. Cutting every last piece of my identity, changing who I am, and what I look like. My hair was like the green grass that will eventually grow back. The cord brushes against my wrist many times, a towel draped around my shoulders to catch all of the pieces of my dark beautiful hair that will soon be gone. It feels as if I am loosing my life, my story, my everything. Having the fear of people looking at me or even staring at me everywhere I go. The stress of people feeling bad for me and me not knowing what to say. Staring into my eyes I see flashbacks of my childhood. When the days were better. When I could go see my friends and they didn't have to come and see me.

Sometimes my mom really gets on my nerves. I guess this is normal for a teenager, and I guess on some level my mother is a decent person. Fundamentally, she’s nice and her intentions are usually good, but knowing all this deep down in no way makes her less annoying. I know it makes me sound really superficial and petty, but the way she dresses is one of my mother’s worst offenses. She wears tennis shoes with almost everything. I’m not at all fashionable myself, and I don’t even pretend to be. Nevertheless, even I can see that my mother is severely fashion impaired.