Thoughts.

When I was younger, my dad had a problem with substance abuse. He was an alcoholic. He turned to drinks as a way to better his life. He didn't realise the harm it was causing, not only to his health, but to others around him. My entire family felt the brunt of his habit. He didn't see the issue. Didn't see how it brought out his angry side. He would call my aunt disgusting for her cigarette addiction, not seeing the error in his own ways. Refusing to admit that he had a problem.

This basically describes my life.

The Rape of Lucretia

 

 

LVII. One day when the young men were drinking at the house of Sextus Tarquinius, after a supper where they had dined with the son of Egerius, Tarquinius Conlatinus, they fell to talking about their wives, and each man fell to praising his wife to excess. Finally Tarquinius Conlatinus declared that there was no need to argue; they might all be sure that no one was more worthy than his Lucretia. "Young and vigorous as we are, why don't we go get out horses and go and see for ourselves what our wives are doing? And we will base our judgement on whatever we see them doing when their husbands arrive unannounced." Encouraged by the wine, "Yes, let's go!" they all cried, and they went on horseback to the city. Darkness was beginning to fall when they arrived and they went to the house of Conlatinus. There, they found Lucretia behaving quite differently from the daughters-in-law of the King, whom they had found with their friends before a grand feast, preparing to have a night of fun. Lucretia, even though it was night, was still working on her spinning, with her servants, in the middle of her house. They were all impressed by Lucretia's chaste honor. When her husband and the Tarquins arrived, she received them, and her husband, the winner, was obliged to invite the king's sons in. It was then that Sextus Tarquinius was seized by the desire to violate Lucretia's chastity, seduced both by her beauty and by her exemplary virtue. Finally, after a night of youthful games, they returned to the camp.

LVIII. Several days passed. Sextus Tarquinius returned to the house of Conlatinus, with one of his companions. He was well received and given the hospitality of the house, and maddened with love, he waited until he was sure everyone else was asleep. Then he took up his sword and went to Lucretia's bedroom, and placing his sword against her left breast, he said, "Quiet, Lucretia; I am Sextus Tarquinius, and I have a sword in my hand. If you speak, you will die." Awakening from sleep, the poor woman realized that she was without help and very close to death. Sextus Tarquinius declared his love for her, begging and threatening her alternately, and attacked her soul in every way. Finally, before her steadfastness, which was not affected by the fear of death even after his intimidation, he added another menace. "When I have killed you, I will put next to you the body of a nude servant, and everyone will say that you were killed during a dishonorable act of adultery." With this menace, Sextus Tarquinius triumphed over her virtue, and when he had raped her he left, having taken away her honor. Lucretia, overcome with sorrow and shame, sent messengers both to her husband at Ardea and her father at Rome, asking them each to come "at once, with a good friend, because a very terrible thing had happened." Spurius Lucretius, her father, came with Publius Valerius, the son of Volesus, and Conlatinus came with Lucius Junius Brutus; they had just returned to Rome when they met Lucretia's messenger. They found Lucretia in her chamber, overpowered by grief. When she saw them she began to cry. "How are you?" her husband asked. "Very bad," she replied, "how can anothing go well for a woman who has lost her honor? There are the marks of another man in your bed, Conlatinus. My body is greatly soiled, though my heart is still pure, as my death will prove. But give me your right hand in faith that you will not allow the guilty to escape. It was Sextus Tarquinius who returned our hospitality with enmity last night. With his sword in his hand, he came to take his pleasure for my unhappiness, but it will also be his sorrow if you are real men." They promised her that they would pursue him, and they tried to appease her sorrow, saying that it was the soul that did wrong, and not the body, and because she had had no bad intention, she did no wrong. "It is your responsibility to see that he gets what he deserves," she said, "I will absolve myself of blame, and I will not free myself from punishment. No woman shall use Lucretia as her example in dishonor." Then she took up a knife which she had hidden beneath her robe, and plunged it into her heart, collapsing from her wound; she died there amid the cries of her husband and father.

LIX. Brutus, leaving them in their grief, took the knife from Lucretia's wound, and holding it all covered with blood up in the aid, cried, "By this blood, which was so pure before the crime of the prince, I swear before you, O gods, to chase the King Lucius Tarquinius Superbus, with his criminal wife and all their offspring, by fire, iron, and all the methods I have at my disposal, and never to tolerate Kings in Rome evermore, whether of that family of any other."

Preface

Welcome to my blog.
Whenever I feel depressed, I am compelled to write. It serves as an outlet to express my thoughts. It helps me to cope.
I decided to make the switch from tumblr to an unknown blog.
Here my thoughts will continue.

On emotion.

Happiness - do you know how it feels? Can you sense the warmth as it wraps around you? Consumes your pain? Bringing you to happy days.
I cannot recall this emotion. Will I ever?
Two emotions dominate my mind.
Sadness. Sadness of what I’ve been through. What I’ve experienced. Lived through…barely.
The sadness has left visible marks on my body. Do they fade away? Eventually. But the emotional scars remain inevitably.
And anger. You cannot believe the anger I have experienced. Seen firsthand. Felt. And it has left its mark within me. There is no way to remove it….
I cannot fight anger. I am as powerless as you think you are.
How nice would it be - to smile and mean it. I cannot retain the feeling of happiness. It is a façade. I wish I could do it….I cannot.
How can I love when I do not love myself? It isn’t possible.
I am the worst sort of person - a monster, almost. So many people deserve my respect, affection, caring. But I am unable to give it. I am completely apathetic towards life in general.
Can words describe me? Should you even try? I pray you not to. You will fall in a deeper hole than you thought there was.
You cannot escape my doom once you have entered….
I wish you the best.

The mind.

What composes a person’s mindset? What makes someone more optimistic than another?
My mind is a swirl of dark thoughts. My impending death looms in the back corner of my mind, ready to be called up at any moment.
Why do I continue living, when the happy man dies? Where is the justice in this?
There is none.
Life is a game of chance. You must draw the proper cards to continue living, or dying.
Life throws curve balls - it’s up to you whether or not you catch them. Can you continue on your path after learning someone’s dark secret, or will it affect you in a major way?
How much do our thoughts, words, interactions affect others? Can a relationship with one person change your entire viewpoint on the world? Make you question the logic and reasoning behind everything that you know?
Or can a secret, so well kept, haunt your dreams at night, keeping you awake?
What would you say to a victim? To someone who went through the unimaginable? How can you possibly begin to comprehend all of the suffering and pain?
These people, namely I, cannot tell you. Cannot let you know. Cannot speak of what has happened. How can we? Tell you the past? Let you inside?
You cannot imagine our pain. We have been affected forever - do you really want to take that knowledge upon your shoulder? It will change you. You do not deserve that.
For your safety you must stay away. It isn’t selfish - in fact, it’s the most unselfish thing you can imagine.

The only thing worse than suicide is failing.

Did you truly thing you could cure me? Save me from myself? You thought you could take my burden so I wouldn’t have to?
You were wrong.
This will never leave me. It’s ingrained into my flesh. I cannot remove it.
Maybe if you take away my limbs you will find my pain.
Maybe I’ll take them away for you.

I'm falling.

Falling. Into a deep pit of despair. I can only hope to find my way out.
I’m scratching, digging my nails into the wall. It’s smooth obsidian. I can’t dig my way upwards.
How can I get out?
Will someone help me?
Will you?

And all she ever wanted was to be loved.

But no one would give her that one wish.
She went through her days as a permanent stranger. Ignored. Disrespected.
Every night in her room she would cry to herself, sobbing, cutting. The only thing she knew how to do.
She hid the physical scars under sleeves. The emotional ones, under a smile. Her parents never knew. No one knew.
One day she decided to take her life. She went to the nearest pharmacy by school to purchase enough drugs to overdose.
When she returned home, a chat message from a boy in her class was displayed on her computer. A simple hello saved her life. She thought things would look up. For once in her life, she was right.
The world continued to spin.