The Darkness Is Completely Overpowering

As I ran, I felt my foot come down on top of a moss filled rock, and I knew I was in trouble. The slick moss ripped away from the slab of granite and it sent me flying. I knew the fall would be inevitable, and took the it as best I could and prayed for some luck. Branches ripped apart my face, snapping from the contact. Blood flicked up into my eyes. My shoulder made contact with the trunk of a tree as the rest of my body dug into the mud. My legs flipped up over me, crashing into piece of granite bulging out of the ground, pain traveled its way up my leg.

I’m bound into a vicious cycle of obscurity so deep that the choice was luminous. I seem less than myself, but at the same time, I can feel relaxed- even self-righteous, believing that I, a mere mortal, am immanent within this existing plane… And, I ask, Why must we face reality and not become lost in the gray abyss of our mind when it returns to the dawn of darkness from whence it came? Truly, it is comforting there…

Recently it has occurred to me, that I am finally free from the shackles of fear and its hold on me, that this might be the end of the trail. Nonetheless, the sense that suffering is chasing me weighs down any notions of comfort or relief, frankly because my valley was once no different than the peak, just as safe and appealing. And so I moved in life, the trail never ended. The same pebbles remained unmoved, the same voices and sounds, everything was the same. Remarkably, the further I climbed, the more my perspective changed drastically, shifting my perception of moments and bonds that I developed with others into everlasting memories. Wounds seem to have healed. Gradually the valley below began resembling a gem with undeniable beauty contradicted

One 's actions are first sparked by their goals and passions, but as they grow, outer forces invade those thoughts and make them clouded, their passions start to fade and eventually disappear. As children, we dream about what we want to be when we grow up. We have hope in our eyes, and nothing can hold us back. As we grow and learn, we are forced into realization of the harsh realities we live in, making our dreams sink. We must decide if we are going to let these forces knock us down, and conform to them, or stand strong and not take 'no ' for an answer. Margaret Laurence allows us to follow the development of Chris and how outer forces effect him in the short story "Horses of the Night".

The darkness is slowly scaring me making me feel overwhelmed. I can’t see anything. I feel suffocated and musty with all these boxes stocked next to me and on top of me. I’ve been here for so long and I feel so hopeless and useless. Then suddenly a bright light shines on me and I finally feel free from this very comfortless home. I wish someone would open this lid on top of me so I can breath in fresh air. But here I am staying strong and just patiently waiting. Then suddenly, I am lifted, opened, and place on top of a flat surface. I feel so nervous. I am hearing human voices. My wish is granted. It is my time, and I am free!

I felt strong hands grab my arms. Hands covered in thick gloves. My throat went dry, and my muscles tensed. “No.” I whispered, being lifted off of my chair and onto my feet. The word feels ripped from my chest, unhuman. Like it’s not even mine.

The momentum forces me to stumble down. I fall on my back, the air knocked out of me. I lay for a moment, attempting to catch my breathe. As I learn to breath again, a heavy thing falls on me. My vision is blocked as a handful of black hair lands on my face. Next to my ear is a set of lips.

Soon enough my nerves got the best of me, my fingers started to trace over my shorts and my long chestnut brown hair was occasionally twiddled with. I slung my bag over my shoulder and my cleats hit the hard ground. We gathered in two perfectly straight lines and followed the captains to the nicely cut green. I could smell the victory into what I had worked so hard for, yet the stress that led up to this made me believe otherwise.

I gasped for air as I turned the corner on Stanford Street and passed Stony Brook Elementary School. Eight miles. I exerted all the energy left in my body to run up my not-so-steep driveway. My fingers and toes shivered as pins and needles rushed through my body, even though the summer humidity had just arrived for the season. As I reached the top of my driveway, I stumbled into my house. I gripped every object in my path. I knew my muscles had been eating themselves away, as grasping onto the smooth, granite edges of the counter to keep myself stable took my entire body’s corporation. My deteriorating muscles clenched as my powerless strength pushed myself up to stand alongside the counter in the middle of the kitchen. I think I may pass out, again. I held onto the counter as if I held on for my life. I closed my thick eyelids and patiently waited until the feeling past— it always did.

“Hold the elevator!” Someone shouted down the hall. “Hold it!” I wiped at my eyes again and grimaced. Quickly, I stuck my arm out stopping the doors from closing. A man entered beside me. “Thank you, thank you.” He said, trying to catch his breath.

My shuffled jog catches on the roots of a tree and I’m hurled through the air. Sharply landing in a small clearing, I see William sitting and drinking from his canteen in a innocent state of bliss. Does he realize we’re lost? No one will miss us, I don’t suspect father even knew we were coming. I get up and strenuously crawl over to him, my muscles tight and aching. Silently he hands me the bottle, and I gulp down the remnants of our water. Tired and hungry we sit for few minutes before continuing on. We don’t know where we’re going or factly where are; but, we can hear the clouds tumbling in and anywhere becomes better than

In The Kite Runner, the main character, Amir, made a life changing decision that put him into a state of darkness and depression. He made the decision to leave his childhood friend, Hassan, in an alley to be raped, which caused him to have a guilty conscious for years to come. The darkness that Amir felt was revealed when Amir and his father traveled in the tank of a gas truck, no light, just darkness. While in the tank, the author, Khaled Hosseini, added detailed memories of Amir and Hassan’s childhood. By adding these details, the reader was able to conceive an idea of how Amir truly felt about leaving Hassan in that cold and dangerous alley five years prior to traveling to another country.

It’s a long road to the light. Sometimes you will roll along it happily surrounded by friends and loved ones. Other times, you will be alone, crawling uphill over loose rocks and mud on your hands and knees. As a result, it’s bloody, it’s painful, and it’s the greatest feeling – it’s life. And, the moment you realize that this is life, that’s when you will know that it’s not bloody and painful at all – it’s fun.

Depression is the leading mental illness worldwide, affecting millions of people every day. As one of the most common mental illnesses, it can occur to anyone, at any age, and to people of any race or ethnic group. With his book Darkness Visible: A Memoir of Madness, William Styron became of the first people to publicly acknowledge his struggling battle with depression. Darkness Visible is an intense and haunting account of Styron’s own suicidal depression in which he reminds us of the toll that this dreadful illness can have on an individual. As Styron describes his own descent into depression, he tells about the place that he was in, “the despair beyond despair” as he describes it to be. Since its publication, his memoir has been appreciated throughout the world and become a helping hand for people around the world who are suffering from depression. Styron’s description of his experiences resonates with people in a deep and profound way, turning his work into an advocate for the movement for the awareness for depression

A solitary light bulb hangs over the kitchen table, its filament blinking out every few seconds. It buzzes for a few seconds, growing brighter for just a moment, before blinking out completely. The room is engulfed by darkness; the only light comes from the microwave 's clock. It reads: 8:32, in a neon green light. Everything is still, except for the sound of rushing water from the sink and the constant chattering of nature from outside the window. There, crickets conduct a symphony. Toads ribbit and bounce around in the tall, thick grass. The sound of rushing cars is audible in the distance. Chirps sound, then fade, as birds sing their chicklings good night.