Cystic_Cynic

Redemption from Persecution
2004-03-06 06:33:50 (UTC)

Futility...against the regime...

I have learned over many experiences, friends, deaths,
suicides, car crashes, and many more certain "devastating"
tramatic events, that most things in life are futile.
Education only allows us to communicate to each other, and
wouldn't be needed if we could distinguish grunts. In fact,
many things we take for granted are just the inclinations
of our minds. For those that read my experiences, please do
not be offended, that is not what I am trying to
accomplish, I am trying to release a part of me, and trying
to unlock a hidden peice of me.

As far back as I can remember, I've been a very deep,
depressed person. As a child, I only drew depressing things
with deep colours that expressed that darkness in which I
am slowly being consumed. For example) When we were asked
to draw what we wanted to be, I drew a grave, with one hand
out of it. This was grade 1, which many of my teachers to
come feared. This only brew hatered as you can imagine I
was a forced social outcast. This led me down a very long
trail of depression and withdrawl. Even from my parents,
who claimed they loved me, still screamed and allowed my
older, adopted brother to abuse me...I hated the screaming
most of all, I used to run to my room, curl up in the fetal
position and cry until I soaked a few pillows.




Ad: