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/lit/ - Literature / Fanfic / Poetry

M-my hands are w-writing on their own~!
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Simple. Write the story of your life, do not names or personal information that would give you away. I'll start.


I lived a rather normal life… well, happy life is probably a more appropriate term when I was younger till I'd say about 4 or 5 years old, it's been so long I can't remember. I used to be extremely social, play outdoors, I had such a tan I was mistaken for an african american at times. However, when I was around 5 years old, my mother and father got divorced. I lived between them, my mother on week days and my fathers on weekends. My parents soon got remarried. It was my mother getting remarried which changed me drastically. My mother married somebody whom fought constantly, I was never in a conflict with him or his children, but just hearing him and my mother fight really just made me hate people. Humanity in general, more and more. It made me reclusive, it made me dwell deep into the cyberspace, ignoring social standpoints or regulations and embracing taboos rather than simply living by the social standpoint. Through this, my relationship with my family, friends, and such became so dwindled that I completely alone, and even my old escape route of the internet soon fell apart. I had a very few amount of E-friends whom I held onto so tightly that we grew apart, and it hurt me quite a bit, the experience with them turned me extremely paranoid over my feelings. A couple of years went by, and my mother and stepfather have finally split apart. I am rather happy about this, and my relationship with my family atleast is getting a bit better, however my hatred for mankind life in general has still stayed at it's level.


I've been an internet lurker since the first time I clicked 'that weeeird E thing on the compewter,' which was at the age of six.
Have been ever since.

Social-ness: Average.
Happiness: Can't complain.
Home or World: Home, obviously.


I was cursed with a weak voice. My yell is the average person's conversation volume, and no matter how hard I try, I can never talk to someone from across a room. It's made my life pretty rough, but at the same time I suppose it has its perks. In high school, my teachers never called on me because they knew they wouldn't be able to hear me from my desk. I had a small group of friends who grew used to my mousy nature, and would help be my translator for the rest of the world. I can't say I had much to complain about through those times… But then about when my birthday rolled around last year, everything started falling apart. On Christmas morning, we found my grandmother dead in her bed. She passed in her sleep I guess - real peaceful. Then my grandfather got sick. He had severe heart problems, diabetes, skin cancers, lung problems, you name it, he probably had it. They progressively grew worse as time went by, and within 2 months, he passed away too. This was a big deal for me since my grandparents raised me since I was about 5 or so. Within 1 month of that time, my closest friend was killed by a drunk driver who struck her car head-on. Of course he survived. To top it all off, recently I lost my childhood home to a wildfire. It left me homeless for 1 month. Now I wasn't all depressed or anything, but holy shit was I tired. I had no energy, and barley had the drive to eat. Luckily a young man from my school invited me to move in with him just a few weeks ago, and desperate to find a house that wasn't also a car, I accepted. It's now me, him, my cat, and his dog. It's fairly nice I must say. Our pets get along well, and so do we. We're both kind of quiet, but in different ways. I'm shy, but he just doesn't say anything unless he needs to. I think it's safe to say I'm getting over this year quite well, and I think the two of us might actually settle down for real together. We kinda grew a liking for each other recently while watching Masterpiece Theater. I don't know though. But then again it would seem I don't know much of anything anymore.

tl;dr I'm rather boring and don't do much.


I must scream.


During a dream perhaps a few weeks ago, I had a bit of an epiphany. In that dream, I equated failure with despair. When I woke up, I considered this revelation to be quite significant. This is in part due to my experiences in the past of wrestling with that deep-seated, ancient darkness which a psychiatrist might call major depression, that I call absolute despair.

I cannot impart to you just how that feeling existed, how it was etched into every fiber of my being, how it tortured me, sapped away at my life, how it drove me to the frozen pits of Hell (for, having seen it for myself, I know it is not a blazing inferno as I had once so immaturely thought it to be), where the frozen tundra ground was seamlessly welded to the black sky, where the horizon was infinitely unapproachable, impossible to see, where dreams were dreamt but died.

But if I could, I would, and I would force it down your throat. Oh, how I loathed existence. How I wished I could make others loathe their own existence, and existence itself. The sheer agony of it all, writhing and dying, sleeping in sweet oblivion, but to awake again the next morning to see a grayscale world, to hear a monotonous drone…

I digress.

So, I had this dream, this dream that told me failure means despair.

And ever since that horrible wretchedness, that profound darkness, I have felt something tugging at me. A dim call, as though the source of it was behind a wall. I can just barely make it out. It tells me to fail, to seek that solace again where I first found despair.

No, wait, that's wrong.

No, I first came across this unspeakable darkness some two years ago. I think. I don't remember. My mind has been ravaged by this disease. I have to reorder my thoughts every time I think back to these times.

No, I first was pitted against that beast some two years ago. That sweet mistress of pain that permitted me to suffer. I could hardly bear it. Was it during that year that the thoughts of suicide presented themselves in silken robes, surrounded by unholy fortunes? Or the next year?

I don't remember, I don't remember, I can't remember.

I will assume those vile, sweet, luscious, despicable thoughts started back then, two years ago.

But, I don't know.

I remember a few things though.

I remember speaking, asking, "Why?" of my school guidance counselor. For that, I remember being advised to go to the local hospital's emergency room. Stayed there for a night, maybe two. Probably just one. There, I eventually met a psychiatrist. Told me I played too many video games, that I just had to get my life "back on track." But I didn't think so, no, she didn't know, she hadn't seen that black pitiless beast as I had, and it bared its teeth at me.

No, I needed a second opinion.

Ah, ****. Now, I remember, seeing my family doctor and getting a referral to a different psychiatrist. This was before the visit to the hospital.

Yes, yes, I sought the second opinion from that referred psychiatrist.

He eventually, tentatively, diagnosed me with bipolar disorder, after treating my symptoms with some medication that proved to be particularly helpful in asserting my soul's territory against the wither-bringing darkness.

Ah, I see now.

When I had first seen my psychiatrist, he had thought me to be fine. Perhaps I played my cards wrong; I tried my best to hold up a smile.

Then, some time later, was when I met with my guidance counselor. And after my visit to the hospital, I revisited the doctor-referred psychiatrist for the second opinion.

Yes. That is… sound, at least.

So, that's what happened.

And, now we can return…


Yes, ever since I started on the medication, life has become bearable, perhaps even pleasurable. But I still feel it. That overhanging darkness that threatens to consume my fragile existence as though I were nothing. Not that I am anything; but a pile of dead flesh, not quite fully realized to its death! It calls to me, it calls to me, it tells me to fall, fall, fail and be filled with despair again.

Especially on night's like these, I can feel the pull strongly. That agonizing pressure, incomprehensible, this inexplicable heartache…

Enter the jewel that I found during my long trek through the darkness. Perhaps a year before now, perhaps, that I first found a jewel of brilliant light. A jewel amongst filth. A treasure most beautiful.

I hadn't found a friend like that in a long time. Perhaps, never. Yes, I never had a friend quite like this. He stuck with me through the nadirs of my life. Kept the days barely tolerable, an incredible feat. Chained me to the physical world, he did, perhaps prevented an end that involved a six story fall.

Thus, during that harrowing trek through the shadows, I found a jewel, which I came to love.

But I'm being tested. I'm being tested by those eyes in the umbra, that watch me, that scrutinize me. They're always watching me, whispering to me, that I should fail and fall into despair.

But my friend does not wish for me to fail.

And yet, I feel as though, perhaps, failing would make it all pass easier.

This journey is difficult for me, and it hasn't even gotten to the hardest parts yet.

What am I going to do?

The struggle for life pains me. To stay with my friend in the material world is almost a chore. I want oblivion to take me. But I wish not to leave my friend alone in this accursed pit of a world.

It is here that I must end it. For there is not yet a part to follow. Here we are at a decision tree. What will I do?

I suppose it will be revealed in time.


(english is not my mother tongue so feel free to correct me)

My life started at 4 years old. I woke up in a puddle of blood, two people crying beside me. I knew how to speak, read and write but that was all. From there, a lot of stuffs happened around me. My parents divorced, my sister died, there were good times, bad times. But nothing really mattered and it still doesn't matter now. I've always been detached from the real world. When I was 7, I though that the others people were aliens and I was in some kind of experiment. Later, I though that I was the alien, dreaming a life-long dream. I don't know what will happen when I die, maybe you will all cease to exist, maybe I will live in another world, but I can't stop thinking of this reality as a dream, as something where there is only me and you are all dolls and puppets. Or maybe I stole the life of a young boy, back when I was 4.

I'm somebody living a life that may not be mine, trying to be understood by people who look like walls, and the more I think, the more my body hurts, as if I were not made to belong here.


I have always been gifted with music, ever since I could remember. I began playing jazz trumpet at the age of 6. It was at 6 years old that I realized that music is really the main driving force in my life. I began to study it, discover new genres, expand my horizons. It was not until later that I realized that there was so much more for me on the internet. At the age of 13 I became disgusted with humanity and "normal" people. They all began to look the same to me. They all clothe themselves in the same name brand robes as everyone else and thought in a "group mentality". They all regurgitated the same things everyday: "he's weird, he's a freak, he has no friends". He became blind to them, he didn't even acknowledge their existance. They were all a flock of sheep following televised media. This world pushed him to the internet. On the internet he made more interesting friends, and now lives happily.


Fuck I switched perspectives…
>Fuck it
>Too late now…


I always knew too much. That is all.


for me life feels unreal
the entire gamut of existing, it's shallow and

I feel there's something out there but it's not here
I'm not sure I want it

sometimes I look in the mirror and say "that's not my body"
"that's not me"
"what am I doing here"

"what have I been doing"
"where am I going"

"where have I been"
"where will I be"

"why must I move"


Suddenly, I was.
Before I knew what was going on, I did.
I can only expect that I won't be, just as suddenly.

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