honestlyno

[honestlyno]

Odi et amō quare id faciām fortāsse requīris

Nēscio, sed fierī sēntio et ēxcruciōr

-Catullus

#latin language #writeblr #writing #translated literature #writing prompt #short poem #prompts

[honestlyno]

The look of fear on his face

The regret in his eyes

All of this was for him

For the devil in disguise

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[honestlyno]

The mind was depressed...

As the body was blessed.

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[honestlyno]

Eyes bright like stars...

He was behind bars.

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[honestlyno]

“You’re a coward, bounty hunter.”

“I’ve been patient enough with you judging the very way I live. But I’m not about to stay idly and listen at you calling me a coward. You don’t know anything. And I propose getting to know each other better before throwing useless insults.”

#writing #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writing prompt #angst prompt #prompts

[honestlyno]

“I’m a vampire. A monster. A bounty hunter. My heart is still and I would never feel warm again. I know greed and pride and all the other sins that define us, monsters. Justice is on the list of things I’m not acquainted with.”

“That’s no excuse.”

“I’m well aware. But I’m not about to regret how I’ve lived all my life because you can’t deal with the fact I have killed a lot of people and some of them probably didn’t deserve it.”

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[honestlyno]

Notebook 7

I'm a lot like my mother. I used to say i take after both my parents. But as time passed and i grew older the realisation that i took the not so likable traits of both of them felt suffocating. Of course no one is flawless, that's the thought that i repeated to myself almost every night so that reassurance could help me sleep through my insomnia. What a naïve way of thinking for young me.

My mother is a respectable woman. I envy her and respect her, i love her. But i don't like her. She's a horrible human being, doing her best to be a mother. It's not working, it never worked. She wasn't there while i was growing up and i was practically raised by my grandparents. My father was always busy with work so i couldn't get to see him much either. We failed to form a connection and i never got to know her on a deep emotional level. I don't have any memories with her from my young years.

Maybe that's the reason our relationship is strained even now. Every time she gets angry she leaves. Goes to cool down, then waites a few days and come back like nothing has happened. I learned from her, i saw her. That's why when i get angry i need to be alone, i need to get away and calm down.

Realisation that i act like her was hard to swallow. I was in pain from her absence and i understood that i did the very same thing as well. How much fun is our relationship. She's there - i can always reach to her, yet she feels so far away I'm afraid she'll disappear again and leave me alone with my mind as the only company. And as the room grows quiet and cold, my heart squeezes tighter and i try to tell myself that it's all normal. That it's better to be alone than to be with somebody and hurt him greatly.

That's precisely the main reason my relationships don't work out. I can't talk about my emotions and in turn that often hurts the other party. I blame my mother for that selfish part of me. I'm being desperate to fix it, i want to get rid of it. Yet I can't seem to walk away from my old ways and start a new, clean life where my mother doesn't control me.

#writing #angst #humanity #mental heath issues #parent issues #emotions #spilled thoughts

[honestlyno]

I'm officially tired of reading books with righteous main characters, fighting for justice with the power of friendship.

Just imagine a book in which the main character is running around, screwing with faith and doing dirty to anyone he meets. I want this annoying piece of shit with no moral grounds and a dark sense of humour.

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[honestlyno]

Notebook 6

Years ago i used to feel useless, worthless, just a shell of the person i used go be. I truly believed things were better. I let myself hope to go back to normal, to study hard, have good grades and not disappoint my parents. This simple thing was a mission of mine that's taking too much of my energy to even talk about it. I lay in bed, procrastinate all the while knowing i probably don't know anything about my next exam. Yet i couldn't bring myself to care.

I stayed up all night thinking, reading, even trying to study. But the heavy feeling of the understanding that maybe I'm not enough caused me to soon give up and cry out to the world. I cried so much that night i couldn't keep my eyes open because of the burning sensation. And how pathetic was that? So much for being somebody, so much for trying to change. What goal exactly did i try to reach? Where was the end line and what was it?

After the sadness and self-hatred i had for myself came the anger. I could feel it pooling in the pits of my stomach, making me do stupid things. I wanted to scream, possibly cry out to the world, curse at whatever God there was and trash around untill the chains of life finally let me free. But it never seemed to get out of me. I was as always just a ragged thing, a shel of once such a great being. I felt like i was falling and reaching the deepest part seemed impossible. I felt like i could throw up.

Panic attacks became a frequency, all hopes and dreams of being normal again slowly vanished as I couldn't find it in myself to change. I was so fucking scared of this change. It felt suffocating. Drowning now seemed so much better than struggling to breathe on the solid ground beneath my feet.

I gradually became scared of staying on balconies or near windows simply because i couldn't believe in myself to not jump out and smash my head in the cement. How foolish was i to think i would go back? I could never.

Damaged and used for whatever was good i felt more and more like i was floating out of my body. All things were like a fever dream and escaping from reality became almost impossible. It was hard breathing and acting as if everything was fine. Nothing was fine and i could see it and feel it in my bones. How does one study to be successful? I couldn't bring myself to open the required books. Why did i got ruined?

I felt like trash, the useless things beneath my feet as i walked all over myself. In the past years that's all i seemed to be able to do. Because i was garbage, waiting patiently to be disposed of. A tragic fate for someone who used to be so great.

#writing #writersociety #angst #tw self destruction #self h@rm #depressing shit

[honestlyno]

Notebook 2

I am human. I am prone to strong emotions. I can feel hurt, anger, sadness just as well as happiness, joy and love. I feel frustration, grief and sorrow. I laugh and i cry.

Those, i believe, are the things that define my humanity. I don't usually feel strong emotions and it takes me days to figure out what i feel. It takes even more to talk about it and assimilate it. That's precisely why i come off as cold and emotionless in situations requiring a strong outside showcase of one's emotions at right the correct moment.

That's a flaw of mine that i perceive clearly, thanks to my given human mind, one that's able to successfully accumulate information. I proud myself too much thanks to the ability to perceive information accurately. At least that's what i spend the last few years thinking about. Then i got to discover the rest of the world i was born in and have lived in for the most of my life. (We don't talk about the early years of my life as a baby, because I don't remember them anyway). My discovery led me to the thought that I'm not the only one with this so called "unordinary" ability and there were way more people in the world then I'd like to admit who posses the same traits as me. My parents were lying the whole time, calling me their little smart person. And that's the hardest part to realise and admit.

Something like this may seem too unimportant for the person who's to read my book. Of course i never thought i could hide it forever, i could just hope my parents would never find it after the planning and execution of my death. I may have skipped a few parts of my story as I've said this dreadful thing so casually. Of course I didn't want to die, i simply craved to escape.

Selfishness was something i never understood. It was hard to understand and see in other people. It was like a painting, shown to a child while it is being asked to explain the thought behind it. That's how i felt most of the time with those portraits of human beings that were presented to me every single day. They were hard to read and sometimes even irritating as frustration often grew in my insides the more i stared at a person.

But they were addicting. I watched them, studied how they act and grew more and more hateful towards them. I truly despised humans. And yet i were so jealous of them, i couldn't think straight when in their company. I felt too conflicted for my own liking and that made me turn to music.

I craved silence and solitude. For a long time I didn't get any of that, feeding my depression with repressed urges and putting my own needs at the bottom of the list. There was a time i cared more about my girlfriend at the time rather than myself which led me to take part in self-harming behaviour. My mind and body were being split as one was too eager to think but the other couldn't move for days. I could only lay in bed and stare at the ceiling while tears streamed down my face. My insomnia got worse and by the end of every week i was counting only 10 hours of sleep.

My parents never saw those signs of a ruined human in me and instead continued their lives straight on like norhing mattered. A part of me wanted them to find out only so i could see how they will act about it. Were they going to be taken down by guilt, apologizing to me or were they going to be disappointed of me for not being able to win that battle against myself? I was too out of it to think of all the possible scenarios, only coming to myself when i had to go to school and act out my perfect life.

I often wondered how i looked from other person's perspective. It's a shame I'll never get to find out. Simply because with time i find myself not caring at all. Life's been a bitch towards me more than once and by the fime i reached 10th grade i was too tired to fight back. Does that make me weak or lazy? Neither. Not always is a person weak if he doesn't take action. My parents don't understand that. And it pains me to watch them so hard on about their own beliefs.

"I think a human should believe whatever he wants but needs to listen to other people too. At least speaking from personal experience." Everybody says that. I wish i could too. But no. Not everything is based on "personal experience" whatever that is. I could be old and not experienced enough or i could be young and too experienced. How are you going to judge me now? You can't. And that's what most people are mad about. When you can't judge somebody you feel like they are perfect, then you compare them to yourself and eventually your own self-esteem is damaged.

#writing #writeblr #writersociety #angst #humanity #human nature

[honestlyno]

Notebook 3

My humanity could eat shit and die. I hated it. What define us as humans? Which human is righteous and which is the villain of the story? Who gets to decided all that and make the rules?

It was all bullshit. How could someone think "humanity" and then immediately think of "morality"? How did people even come up with those terms? Why can't we all just be people?

I am being hypocritical. I hated people and despised the ones who tried to think of themselves as something more than the others. All the while i was engrossed in the history of some of the cruellest dictators. I loved reading about how their reign made people feel, how their psychology and sociology changed during the years. All of those things and more helped me gain better understanding on the ugly creature that is the human.

I continued my act during school and locked myself in my room every night to not get interrupted while my mind was running miles an hour thinking of life, death, cruelty and morality. I was trying to define my humanity, all the things that made me feel like a useless person. I got annoyed at people who often recorded themselves and posted videos about some "spiritual" realization, only to talk about the ideas of somebody else and copy all of the person's personality. They were all as fake as me and i was getting angry that they weren't doing such a good job at acting as i was.

"You look cold."

I hated that sentence with passion. Wherever i was meeting with somebody knew i gave my best to look presentable, funny, friendly and ready to mingle with the new person i was getting to know. Yet they always responded with that simple sentence that brought me to Earth with a shot to the mind and a bucket of cold water over my body. I would often snap and leave but my snapping couldn't be described as an ordinary one. And it's pretty easy. I drop my smile, stare with cold eyes at the person and then take my leave without saying anything. That hurts more than being rejected and i knew it because ordinary people didn't like silence, being ignored and sassy young human beings like themselves.

Suicidal tendencies were something i came to possess after much trauma and thoughts on life and meaning. I loved spending time just thinking about things i knew would never interest someone else. That's what i thought made my mind unique and that's exactly how I've written my doom. Falling from a high place felt exhilarating, cutting at the skin on my hands felt freeing, pulling at the skin around my nails untill the bleeding wouldn't stop felt like a much needed punishment. And all of this because I didn't have a childhood one would describe as happy.

My parents weren't rich so they worked a lot which automatically meant less time for me. Most of my childhood was spent with my grandparents who gave their best to turn me into a human. They somehow succeeded. But the need for my mother was powering over those feelings, leaving me with a sense of dread and sadness.

I was the first born, loved by all. I was the first child from my generation in the family, i had everything and everyone wrapped around my finger. Maybe that's why i didn't feel the numbness that took over when I wasn't with my parents.

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[honestlyno]

Notebook 4

Confinement was always something that scared me. Don't get me wrong, i loved being alone when my mood would allow it. But being forced to stay in a room for too long was proving detestable at most. How could ever one being such as myself be kept under lock and key while the world continued moving about around us. People were exhausting indeed and I won't be a hellish judge to anyone that respects boundaries and wants to be left alone for a period of time. They would always come back for search of company anyway.

Tell me something i don't know. Or ask about something i know. Theses are the rules that make a conversation. I always say communication is key, but is it really when you're forced to choose who to communicate with. Can't i be left alone to dwell on my own thoughts that always require a strong will that i do not posses in myself? One may understand this as stupid and maybe the time I've been spending alone is far too great and it's turned me mad. But be may who you would be and tarnish me with your words. Hurt me and tear me, leave me breathless and shameful and i might even grant you the truth about my being.

Prideful yet emphatic, people are too keen on keeping promises and making hard decisions, jumping into adulthood like its some type of game and they already have all the stas required for completing the quest. It's not fun at all to watch how young people wither while you're standing from the side, watching this dreadful view. Now here's what i think on the matter. Don't interfere, that's only going to ruin you more from the inside and will leave you wanting to return to something you once may have possessed. We don't need that and we certainly don't want that. Pain is not an option because pain is something deserved. I don't believe everyone should be in pain. Spare people who've actually haven't done anything bad in their entire life.

Punish me, for instance. For i have sinned a number of times myself. I am no saint, i do not speak of God as someone higher. In this text God is nothing but a tool for me to use to manipulate people who believe in him. Just like it has always been in history. Why not keep the tradition?

People are hateful beings. They speak of love yet they never once experienced it, they move around and are always in some kind of movement, they think because they simply can't shut their brains down. It must be exhausting to be a human. Humans set up expectations without being able to reach then themselves and then blame a whole generation for their own failures. There's nothing heroic about acting all high and mighty. Just like God does. And God is a fucking coward.

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[honestlyno]

From a young age i was being punished for what i could only describe as my own humanity. I was the favourite child and ultimately the first born, which of course ment the most mistakes were made with me. I got used to emotional manipulation from my closest people and I've seen the ugly colors of the world and the human beings living in it. The heavy weight i had to carry from then on only worsened my own resolve and weakened my need for communication. Isolation became a thing i craved way before anyone could do anything about it. The fault is partly mine for I didn't try to heal or stop my ungodly desire to be away. The need only grew with the years until i found it hard to breathe near other people.

I often feel the need to elaborate myself and i would do so even now, knowing it's probably no place for me to say it. Human beings have always scared and amazed me. Two polar opposites that i often felt clashing down in me every time i was in the company of a great community of people. All the while i couldn't help myself but think of all of them as ugly and unsightly beings, not being able to help myself but think how could God create such a thing as the human. Even with all those things i never struggled to make friends, it was easy enough to put on a mask, smile through the day and act friendly with anyone. Some of them even tried confessing to me, which is a story for later chapters.

Truth is i hated all those friendships, i couldn't help but see the people as dirty animals, crawling around giving their best to become something when all they could reach was their own wanted high of their dirty emotions. What scared me the most was the fact I didn't feel guilt for feeling and seeing them this way, it was all a part of me, as I've always thought, which only made things worse when i was supposed to give out compliments about someone's look and clothing. I didnt care about all those things but forcing myself to smile and nod was something easily learned and i could perform all too well by the time i came of age.

There somewhere in me still stood the problem with taking information on emotions and feelings. I often came out as harsh with my words of critique and soon enough i learned to keep those things to myself in order to not become an outcast in a world full of the same human beings. It was all an act done for my own good, as I've been lead to believe by my own mind. That turned me to movies and cartoons, simple enough for kids to learn what and when to feel. Soon enough i realised it was too late for me to learn from drawn animated pictures and with immense feeling of sadness and pity i started falling in the seemingly endless pit of emotional starvation.

Feeling like the world is ending and one's walking on clouds while all the others are running on solid ground, was the high of my first episode of depression. Things were never so simple and as i realized this i couldn't help but cry myself to sleep for the first time since i was a kid. All those emotions that found their place deep within myself were now pouring out and i could do nothing to stop them, except for letting go. The realization that something is wrong with me was the first step towards madness in its finest form.

That's precisely when my interest in psychology was born. I've never been interested in humans and their emotions and behavior patterns but the thought of being able to successfully manipulate them felt exhilarating enough for me to start studying the ways of one psychologist. The only problem was loosing myself in this so found "interest" that now to me seems like a childish dream. Maybe i got too engrossed in hypothetical situations that often included me and someone else i knew in a deep hearted conversation about life.

From then on i often found myself wanting and most importantly - needing somebody's attention to be solely on me. I wanted a partner, a person who has the same strugles as me and who can help me gain a better understanding about this apathetic depressed world i was in. That's the first time i realised i had a type. I needed someone like me. But such a person doesn't exist and so i soon enough gave up on any hope of finding my so called "soulmate", deciding its a waist of time and efforts. The moment i made the decision to confide in my friend, from the time, was what i can only name as pathetic. I felt weak and craved attention that i couldn't possibly get from this human that named itself my friend. And so it laughed. It's laughter echoed through the space of the café we were sitting in. And that was exactly the moment part of me died. The human sitting across the table from me called me prideful and a narcissist, having absolutely no clue what I actually meant.

A second wave of depression hit me straight after with the realization that human beings were all fake.

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[honestlyno]

Prologue

A life one as myself doesn't deserve.

Being know as a kindhearted human i often couldn't bring myself to tell the truth or show what people would describe as the "real" you. But isn't reality just the thing everyone claims they see? I too know of this reality they all see, and my struggles to blend in it seem all the more real and at the same time fake. I kept my head high for the longest time only to crumble under each word that esaped my mouth. That often brought me to the pits of depression as thoughts of suicide and a fast exit of this hellish experience that is life made me turn in bed until the early hours of the mornings. I gradually came down with insomnia as sleep was something i simply decided i didnt need.

I started preparing what to say early before the day would begin. The night before i would spend awake in my bed simply going over every possible scenario for the following day. Weeks later nothing could possibly surprise me as i have thought of everything. Or so i was taking my time to think, bathing in the heavenly showers of my own pride. Arrogance has always been a strong suit in people and yet i would always be surprised at myself for saying something out of the lines of the "appropriate" behavior. These things gradually started changing as i became older. They weren't just casual slip-ups everybody did from time to time, they were a full time job for me. Reading the mood of the room, slipping on purpose, showing pride and arrogance at the same time. Lying.

When did lying become so easy? I found joy in it. Tricking human beings into believing you, then turning around and knowing all their secrets brought me joy i shouldn't have felt. But i did and if that is a sin, so be it. Let God judge me for what I've become and let him torture those who turned me in this. Or does that sound hypocritical? There's of course always the possibility of me torturing myself and making myself come out as the victim. That would only mean I can't escape my own lies as they are starting to eat me whole and drown me in their endless showers.

That doesn't sound as a bad thing. I find myself imagining what drowning would feel like, when my lungs start burning from the water invading my lungs. Would i feel the same pain all those people before me have described. There was only one way for me to possibly find out for myself. I always loved experimenting with my own self and drowning didnt seem like a hard task. Of course i didnt want to die, i just craved to feel something different from numbness and that emotionless state i was in.

We had a tub in our old apartment. I loved taking my baths in it, soaking to the bone and relaxing in the soft touch of the white bubbles. Everybody knew i loved it. That's precisely why it would in no way look suspicious if i was to lock myself in the bath and try this foreign burning feeling in my body. That's of course if the circumstances would allow.

And they most certainly did.

I dipped my head without taking air in first. The oxygen wasn't as much as i thought it would be in my body for me to perform this exercise but I couldn't possibly give up. Staying under the water felt good enough for me to not want to get out. I waited patiently for fhe burn everybody describes, only feeling the need for oxygen grow in me. I was fighting with everything i had to stay under water and feel the burn. Was this considered self harm? I would never know, I've never been interested. This was simply an experiment, like I've always called those things. Being in this situation was the result from my experiment and soon enough the body beat the mind and i found myself loudly panting and trying to gulp down as much air as possible. My resolve wasn't strong enough, it may seem, i realised i was a weak person.

Because of this newfound weakness of mine i got too engross in trying to decipher it. It meant nothing, by the end i was done with figuring myself out and just let myself be for the rest of my miserable life.

But for me to tell all the readers how i turned out this way I'm required to start from the beginning of things. Letting the reader decide whether i was turned or simply self-made was the greatest idea i had ever had for a while. That's simply because i wouldn't usually let myself think those things over. They would bring me headaches and often trigger my insomnia, sentencing me to a night with little to no sleep at all.

#writing #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writing prompt #writersociety #writers block #selfharn #tw self destruction

[honestlyno]

"I tried being better. I tried with all the honesty and smiles and brightness. But people refused to look."

"I told you, didn't I? Once there, you'll never be able to come back."

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[honestlyno]

"What does it feel like? Knowing your throne is built on the dead bodies of innocent people."

"I admire your bravery to talk to me like that. And i laugh at your naïve way of thinking. Who are you to decide these people were innocent? Did you know them? Have you spend a lifetime living amongst them? No. You're a noble, one who does not know hunger or pain. Don't think of yourself as a God. Only He has the power of deciding on one's innocence. You're but a human. And you've not seen enough of the world. Now bow down. I am your king after all."

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[honestlyno]

Baisemain

A kiss on the hand

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