Existential crisis

It hurts so much. Like if a thousand daggers were piercing through your heart at once, and the butterflies in your stomach have turned into terrifying hungry monsters who'd eat you inside out. 
Loneliness is the worst feeling anyone has to ever go through. Everything loses its beauty and becomes bitter : the food is tasteless, the sounds, even the sweet melodies of music, turn into annoying noises, and all the colours turn to grey. 
And you're not alone, friends and family surround you, and they all keep asking if you were okay and if something was wrong, but you don't know, and all you want to do is tell them to SHUT UP AND LEAVE YOU ALONE because you don't know what wrong, and because no, you're not okay, and you can't help the tears choking you nor the awful pain in your chest. 
And on your morning run in the nearby woods; because it's so important to exercise, they say; the trees are stunningly beautiful. The sun rays slide among the almost-naked branches making one oh-so-pretty image that's worthy of being painted and hanged in museums. The fallen leaves make the sweet crunch that you love so much when you step on them, but even that sound is bitter. And you can't enjoy your run, because who cares about keeping a good shape when all you want is to devour that Nutella or Ben & Jerry's pot in a sad attempt to bring back the sweet taste of happiness ?
Something is missing, bu you don't know what is it, and it kills you, because you can't savor anything anymore and you can't do anything about it. All that you can do is hug your pillow and cry yourself to sleep, because even though you have people around you, none of them is actually able to bring colour back to your skies, nor the smile to your eyes. 

Reviews

[Dot]

Indeed, it seems fruitless to express one's experiences on this level, for they exist in a level of pure subjectivism, entirely dependent upon the individual's nature and scope of comprehension. I myself have been experiencing the world subjectively since the age of sixteen, and it has developed - in an intransient way of course - vastly since then, like a form of moss or algae spreading across the world that alters my perception. When another asks what's wrong, or if they can help at all, it seems, and to a certain extent IS meaningless, and futile in relation, for considering when one is grasped by this despair the majority of experience is entirely subjective, how is any other supposed to understand or help respectively? It seems implausible to attempt others to comprehend, and from my own experience, to attempt leads others to encounter mainly a form of confusion, with the occasional reaction of dismay and the resulting retreat, however, recently I have been visiting a counselor, and although it's good to talk to one whom likes to listen, I understand that it is her job to listen, and although she has given me things to help my anxiety, I cannot free myself from my understanding that there is no real way to transfigure my mentality back to previous form. Therefore, I think one must learn to relate to the new mentality, to begin working with it as if one would work with a stranger if there stood an tremendous task ahead and neither could solve it alone. One must sincerely stride into the mind and take control, as much as one can, and eventually - or so it seems to me, - there is the possibility of a mind greater of perception and thought than the mind that continues innocence and ignorance.

I am able to compare my own experiences with those you express here, but it's interesting how you are able to compare the initial experience in a physical manner; mine never took a hold physically to begin with, at least not in itself, my physical symptoms, if I may call them that, came from the experiences gentle guiding into depression, and the associative conditions that accompany that problem. But after the initial despair, sorrow, and utter exhaustion, I slowly began to comprehend its being, and since then, my intelligence has grown tremendously, leading me to conceptualize things, which - if I'm ever able to vocally document to people - amazes them, sometimes leaving them in awe. Interestingly, I feel that if I was never to encountered this change, this shift in mind, then I feel I would to this day be a mentally dull, average intelligence, monotonous being, however, with the shift comes a routine sadness, which, if you wish to view, are resurfacing in my recent writings.

I thank you for this piece Miss Wiif, it's refreshing, in an obscure way, to read others experiences with this conspicuous element of existence. I have briefly looked over your profile, and find an interest in the rest of your writings, so I have saved a few to my browser in order to review, I hope this is okay. Again, thank you for this piece. Guten tag.

[Wiif]

Oh thank you so much for your kind review, Theo !
No matter how bad people look at depression, they all acknowledge that it's what produces pure genius, be it in arts or science, depression or other difficulties, when dealt with correctly, push a person beyond their limits, and thus marvelous contributions to the human history are born.

Sometimes speaking your thoughts up doesn't really help, because like I stated in the text, you don't know why are these changes happening to you, you might not have a reason to feel sad, but you still do. The times I feel that way, I usually write, I just take a pen and a paper, and scribble what ever comes to my mind, I end up with texts I publish here, or throw away in the trash bin. You will notice that when you read some of my other texts :)
Again thank you for your review, and please do tell me what you think of my works, after all, I'm nothing but an amateur who just took her first step down the path of being read. :)

[Dot]

Thank you for this piece Miss Wiif!

It does seem that there lies a certain... genius as you say within depression, but it's dormant initially, and up to the affected individual to unwrap slowly, for if one tears apart the genius as child might rip of the rapping of a present at christmas, to most, it can only destroy the mind, or at least severely damage it. But you are correct in stating that many great contributions in this world have been by people afflicted my depression.

Indeed, I agree with your statement about how speaking about these matters sometimes is to no avail, as I'm sure you can see from my previous journal entry. I myself write an entry every day as a matter of principle, simply for my own delectation; my routine requires it be that way.

No problem, and like I say, I shall review more of your works very soon.