#despondency

[yousaveeveryonebutwhosavesyou]

[jayblanc]

I just got half way through writing up the a WSFS reform proposal I promised, and realised this was an awful lot of tiring work on writing up a complicated proposal, that was mainly going to get me shouted at, and it looks like the Hugos are so discredited that it feels like bailing out the titanic.

So I’m left asking my self do I want to put any more energy into this? And the answer is starting to turn back to “No, you should have stuck to your first instincts and washed your hands of it”.

[novamourningstar]

Just the promise of you was enough. A promise, that one day I’ll get to have something as precious as you to grace my despondent existence, was enough. I sit here and wait for you to happen, doing nothing, staring blankly at a wall as faded pictures play inside my head, like that’ll bring you right to me. So vague, I can’t make up anything of it, yet vivid enough to keep me yearning for more. I don’t who or what you are, I don’t know anything of you, I don’t even know why I want you, but yet again I’ll sit here and wait —patiently— for you to come to me and lift that curse of misery bestowed upon me for as long as I can remember (which isn’t much either), but yeah.

[orthodoxicons]

“One must cooperate with God and do everything together with Him, or else the devil will devour all a person’s strength.”

- Fr. Daniel Sysoev, On Envy and Despondency, pg. 35

[swqrgii]

★ :: ☕️ one day you’ll realize that all this no longer matters.

— in fact, nothing matters in this world🍂 it is only in our head and only we invent it.

[jhesite]

“I get bored often. I've vertigo and I'm afraid of boredom; some time ago, I had a depression, to unconsciously be trendy maybe, caused by boredom or being boredom itself. If you write about boredom, it's that you're not bored. Boredom paralyzes or only makes you do destructive actions or puts you out in a state close to death. It was unbearable. No one could help me. I couldn't hold onto/cling to anything. When I say unbearable, I think the word is way far from the truth. It was deathly, yes. It was as if I was drowning in the air. I couldn't open any window on the street, in the world, on someone. Asphyxia. How to say it again... Weeks and months when moving required a huge effort and made me suffer as much as not moving. Unsupportable, yes, that's it. Absolutely unsupportable. Dishes were tasteless. A dead person who wouldn't be dead, a living person who wouldn't be alive. Alone, in an illimitable desert. Or, on the opposite, in a cell encircled by walls, very high, with a grey light on the very top, not able to read a book.“

Le solitaire, Eugène Ionesco

[quietlyimplode]

Clint/Nat - Early Relationship Days

Warnings for: despondency, self harm

The tension builds and neither talk. They move about their business of the house with a terse anger than neither wants to interrupt.

She said the last words. It’s his turn to talk, Natasha thinks, as though these things have a natural order to them, rules that need to be followed.

Except he says nothing.

The night drags on and he falls asleep on the couch, leaving her awake and listless as she sends a message to Pepper, even though she knows she’s too busy to reply.

At least.

That’s what she tells herself.

Maybe it’s that Pepper doesn’t want for talk to her, she’s been shit lately, pushing everyone away, not replying, making them come to her or having her own rules about why she can’t reply or talk.

But as her best friend rolls over in his sleep, a dull loneliness plagues her.

The TV plays reruns of shows they’ve watched a million times and she starts reciting Yiddish words in her head to practice. Anything is better than the thoughts that ruminate.

He has every right to be shitty, and she knows she shouldn’t have said what she did. Probably should have been pulling her weight around the apartment a bit more. He’s not wrong.

“I’m sorry.” She whispers to his back, the rules breaking as she speaks first.

Natasha turns back to the television as the bright lights piece the dark room and stands.

Unsure what to do next, she pulls a book from the book shelf and opens it. Reads the first page and puts it back down. Moving to the kitchen she opens the fridge and closes it again. Decides on using the toilet and then sits back on the couch, picking up her phone.

Still no message.

She doesn’t know what she expected.

She plays with the scab on her arm, picking at it then watching it bleed, wiping it away with a tissue, only to watch it bubble again.

Clint sits up abruptly and she covers her arm with her hand, watching him cautiously.

“I’m going to bed,” he announces, standing and moving to the bathroom.

She quietly follows him, sinking into bed too, wondering if he’ll say good night or roll into bed without so much as an acknowledgment.

Her arms still bleeding as she moves the tissue.

He opens the door and she hides it again.

“Good night,” comes the words from her lips, as she breaks the rule yet again.

He leans back and kisses her.

“Night.”

He’s missed it, her angst, her black hole of sorrow.

But even if he’d asked, would she have wanted him to know?

She doubts she has the words for it.

You’re making it up, her brain supplies. And she doesn’t doubt it.

These feelings are not unique to her. She doesn’t have a monopoly on sadness, loneliness or tiredness. She knows she’s exaggerating.

The elongation of the fight, means she’s had to re-examine relationships and the little she has… well, she’s not quite sure what to do.

It’s made her morbid.

Half of her thinks she should cut all ties. Leave unannounced and slide into the blackness.

Who would miss her anyway?

She could still say Happy Birthday and Congratulations and all the niceties that come with acquaintances.

There’s something nice and easy about fading away.

It’s likely she’s not built for friendships anyway, failing at even the basic question of “how are you?” never knowing how to answer it and knowing it’s always the wrong answer. Burden on burden; everyone has their own shit to deal with.

She knows now, answer truthfully and people take it on board, try and make things better; even if it can’t be made better. But it’s a burden, for all parties. Lie; and it’s easier on everyone. She hates lying.

So she settles for the mid ground of using truths in her lies.

The now dark house is quiet but Natasha’s head is loud.

She bites the inside of her cheeks, finding the scar tissue built up for years of doing so and presses down.

If she wants an out then now is the time.

//

All my fic

[thesynaxarium]

Today we celebrate the Venerable Moses the Ethiopian. Saint Moses, from a young age, was involved in murder, theft, violence, and all sorts of evil. Being physically strong and tall, he was the ring leader of his gang and people trembled at the mere mention of his name. One day his conscience began to bother him and he left his former ways and turned to repentance. Having come to a monastery, he begged the abbot to allow him to stay, but the monks knowing his former life did not wish this. After much imploring they finally let him stay and here started his deep and fervent repentance. With tears and prayer he spent many years, even converting his former associates who had by chance come to rob him. The monastery he was staying at was soon under attack and the monks were forced to flee. Saint Moses was adamant that he would remain there as "he who lives by the sword, dies by the sword", in other words, he wished to die a violent death due to the violence he previously caused others. A group of monks remained with him and they were all slaughtered. Saint Moses is called upon for those wishing to turn to repentance and those who fall into despondency of sin. May he intercede for us always + #saint #moses #saintmoses #ethiopia #ethiopian #mosestheblack #repentance #prayer #tears #gang #monastery #bandits #despondency #monk #holy #venerable #orthodox #saintoftheday (at Wadi El Natrun - El Alamein Rest) https://www.instagram.com/p/ChxszgVvIGq/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[petitefleuriste]

— Erwin Lutzer

[text ID: Misplaced shame, anxiety, despondency, covetousness, lust, bitterness, impatience, pride—these are all sprouts from the root of unbelief in the promises of God.]

[thethcministry]

[ecoooni]

“Some people aren’t loyal to you. They are loyal to their need of you. Once their needs change, so does their loyalty.” – Unknown

[deathdoomuspart]

[grumpygorman]

the rust bakedskyline hovers like ajaggedsmile not a mile from where i gaze and inhaleits bitter breath.

[heppafaiston]

Self-inflicted despondency by Da Hep

[orthodoxicons]

“The pleasure of sin is temporary, and the sorrow that follows is very great”

+ St. Nektarios, Know Thyself: Handbook on Christian Living, pg. 108

[danu2203]

DESPONDENCY