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Writing about depression
Essay writing about depression
Essay writing about depression
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“No excellent soul is exempt from a mixture of madness” – Aristotle Part 1 “Aurora!” I almost dropped my glass of water “Aurora!” someone was yelling my full name—I frowned at that; everyone knows me as Rory, no one called me by my full name apart from my sister. “Aurora! Please!” desperate knocks on my door followed the urgent call of my name again. Setting my glass in the sink, I walked to the door “Aurora, hurry up! Please!” my eyes widened as I recognized whose voice was desperately yelling at me and I ran to unlock the door and open it. Standing on the other side was Nivea. I grabbed my chest as my heart skipped a beat while I fully took her image in. She was a total wreck. Her eyes that before were the color of the ocean were now red and blood shot. Her face was sunken in and a large bruise was forming along her jaw. Her skin looked dry and her hair was hanging out of the ponytail that was at the base of her neck. Her outfit was a wreck too. She was wearing a light-blue short dress that was freshly stained with a dark liquid. Was that blood? My eyes drifted to her feet, she had no shoes on and her toes were turning a light shade of blue. “What the hell, Nivea!” I yelled completely shocked, “What happened?! Are you okay?” Nivea didn’t say a word, instead she pushed me back inside the room again. Then, she turned around and slammed the door closed and locked it, her hands shaking. “Nivea?” I asked worriedly, slowly walking towards her. “What happened?” “He’s coming,” she whispered it so low I was afraid I heard her wrong. “He? Nivea what’s going on? Who is coming?” I demanded. I was so confused in that moment with my sister hysterically pacing in front of me. “He’s coming after me. I-I have to hide.” She mumbled, her e... ... middle of paper ... ... strange man knocking on my door with a voice like silk and then he suddenly appeared on my sixth floor balcony a minute later’ they would lock me in an asylum. After double checking the lock on the door and the locks on the windows, I crawled into the bed with Nivea snuggling into the warmth of the blankets. I closed my eyes hoping to sleep but the image of the dark man on my balcony flashed behind my eyelids. This was such a strange night. Something was really wrong. I got closer to Nivea and her familiar smell comforted me better than anything else could. Since the day we moved into different houses, I’d always missed the safety I felt with her close to me. I’m so great full I let her know how much I loved her that day. Why? Because the next morning, she was gone. “…Whenever a thing is done for the first time, it releases a little demon…” – Emily Dickinson
It had knocked on the door, Jonas checked out who it was. It was Fiona, “Oh my gosh, Jonas, you’re alive!” exclaimed Fiona. “What happened to Gabe, is he ok, why are you crying.”
Within the thin exterior of the cold dark building she called home, she wanted to keep the bodies of those in which she felt she had a connection. Whether it be a reasonable connection or not, she didn’t want to be alone. Her connection with her father brought her to keeping his corps in the house as well as the other man. Her distance from other people around her only drove her to madness causing nothing but isolation and a craving for any type of relation she could hold or be close
I had finally seen an ending to this infinite trail. She slowed down and smiled her smile was as enchanting as the sun peeping through the intertwined trees. We had now arrived at the edge of a cliff it looked like no one had been there before. The sun was gleaming like the heavens and the sea right in front of the cliff lifted its spirit and crashed into the cliff. She sat down in a patch of grass and opened up her bag. She took out a photo of Vivian, a dress and a pair of shoes she left them there and laid down to next to it still smiling.
In school I 've learned that there are a total of five stages of grief - denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. After learning of the truth of The Runaways Project, I was definitely no longer in denial that Hayden may have done this on purpose. My anger meter was beyond full and anyone who stood in my way were simply looking for trouble at this point.
I seen a shadow come out of nowhere and jump on me trying to bite me. Rulaine pulled the mysterious thing of me and punched it also. It fell to the ground right next to Taylie. “We have to get out of here”, Rulaine whispered. “I think I know where we are so I think I know the way out” I replied back.
I arrive home around 11:00 p.m. to a sleeping wife and child. I walked into my daughter Emily’s nursery to give her a kiss goodnight. I leaned in and placed my lips on her forehead as she lightly opened her eyes. I rubbed her back and sang softly to put her back to sleep.
Honey, this has been the longest year of my life, life here is absolutely terrible. It’s only been a year since I have been ranked to Specialist E-7 and sent to Verdun and it has been nothing but pure chaos. As of Last week the 21st of February at 7:12 AM the first shot from a German Krupp landed at Verdun. Lifting up your head you can only see bullets flying everywhere nonstop, it’s a constant battle for land and to weaken the oppositions army. We were told to stay low until ordered to fire, but then our Commanding Officer almost forced us into charging into the Krauts Trenches. Luckily they chose to send a different divisions to risk their lives, God bless their souls. Though since they charged we got bombarded with hundreds of shells the next few days. Disease ran rapid as well, such as Trench Foot it has been a major disease here, my friend Private John Huberts shot himself in his foot after getting this disease, he’s been sent back to Dijon to be treated ever since I haven’t heard from him since. The mud is the second worst part of these trenches, though the constant Rats running around definitely take the cake, every night being woken up from these rats running across you is infuriating for the most part. Also these rats have been eating all our food supply leaving many to starve in the trenches.
The war has been more than I could ever imagine. I have seen such horrific sights, that will remain with me for as long as I live. War is not as they tell us back home. There is no dignity and pride in killing another man; there is only damage and grief. War is exhausting. Half of us do not even understand why we are here, except to kill the Germans. We just want to be home, even the Germans have families they miss too. The trenches we have been staying in have been especially brutal. We stay here for days on end, staring into fields of shrubbery, waiting for the Germans. Sleep is limited and cherished.
removed her overthrow as she was too hot. She had to find a job. She
The sun shone down on us as I finally caught up to her. Grabbing her shoulders she yelped, we stopped to catch our breaths. I spun her around so I could embrace fully in my arms. "Gabriela..." I snuggled in her warmth.
Her oak coloured hair had clumps of dried blood and her neck was deformed; a once white, school shirt was now caked in dust and dirt. Icy blue eyes simply stared towards the railings. The pupils were still dilated. Soon, crowds of prying people formed around
This prompt is from a one line generator Prompt: She clung on to the piece of driftwood, praying for daylight. Please criticize it, but kindly. Tell me what I can do better and if you want more. Story-- She clung on to the piece of driftwood, praying for daylight. Darkness swarmed around her shielding her eyes from anything, she could only see the rough wood under her arms and the fierce rolling water around her body.
And there he was. He followed me down every block just a few paces behind me stopping whenever I did and turned at every corner. I recall it was a chilling night, one I would never forget. There was almost an eerie feeling as soon as I had locked up the shop, I could feel someone staring at me from the building across. The dark presence of a slender man caught my eye in the dimly lit street, he didn’t dare to hide himself standing under the street light, face right at me. It was hard to make out his facial features from what seemed like scars and several stitches along his eye. As the fog rolled in and the cold wind whispered, I decided to walk home. Hazzy abandoned apartments and dead, amber leaves that have fallen weeks before made the walk bloodcurdling. What was normally a fifteen minute walk home seemed like hour.
A violent shiver convulsed me back to life as I was dragged back from the perilous gates of the invisible choir. All that time, I wanted a better life. I screamed, but to no avail. Just awoken, I felt inclined to sleep…like my legs and arms were fastened to the hospital bed with ligatures restraining me. (I conjectured)
I got up from the moth-eaten covers of my make-shift bed and my body shivered violently. Sitting near the left corner overlooking the window, I used the wall as support for my sore back and gazed out of the window, my fingers fidgeting with the cuffs of my ragged brown shirt. The moonlight illuminated the bars on the window and my eyes stayed vaguely on them for some time. However, a figure peering into my cell from the window broke my dazed state like the crackle of thunder. “Long time, no see.