Es ist so laut in meinem Kopf

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Aqua Utopiaď˝ćľˇăŽĺşă§č¨ćśăç´Ąă
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@leivfoel
Es ist so laut in meinem Kopf

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Nein
Nein. Nein, ich mĂśchte das nicht. Nein, lass das. Nein, nimm deine Hand weg. Nein. Nein. Nein.
Doch, du hĂśrtest nicht auf mich. Deine Hand auf meiner Taille. Deine Hand auf meinem Oberschenkel. Nein!
Ignoriertest meine Worte. Deine Hand unter meinem Shirt. Deine Hand zwischen meinen Beinen. Dein gieriger Blick. Nein!
Es war dir egal. Ich war dir egal. Deine Lippen auf meinen. Deine Hand in meinem Nacken. Deine Zunge - kraftvoll, in meinem Mund. Nein!
Doch deine Lippen erstickt meine Worte. Deine Hand in meinem Nacken verhinderte jede Bewegung. Deine Finger in meiner Hose. Dann nichts mehr. Leere.
Hasste mich dafĂźr als mir ein StĂśhnen bei deiner BerĂźhrung entwich. Hure, Schlampe, Bitch! Von jedem gefickt, von jedem benutzt. Nicht mehr wert als das. Niemals mehr wert. Nein.
Isnât life just the mere reflection of everything that is? A space where all sensations appear and vanish. I think life is mostly visible in the morning hours. When darkness turns into daylight. When reflections are disappearing. Those long reflections of light in the water. But where does a ray of light begin and where does it end? Maybe itâs just all at once? Beginning and ending in itself. When day comes, these reflections wonât be visible. But they are still there. Appearing in the consciousness of those who look deeply into the source of life. So, isnât life simply the most beautiful thing you can experience?
Forgive me
Mom! You asked me how I am and I always said Iâm good, But now I know I should, Have told you about my fears, And all the tears, That I wasnât able to cry, that I wasnât able to feel, Mom, now I just want to heal!
I feel this pressure, this hate, this pain, Living a life like that - insane. To say that Iâm alive is a lie, And I donât know what else to try. Thereâs this pain inside my breast, my heart, my fear, my anxiety inside my chest. Mom, donât you see that Iâm in pain? I am the rain. And youâre the sun. Like always. A harbor so safe, But all thatâs left is a deep dark grave, A grave - inside my head, my chest, a hole, Reaching deep inside and poisoning my soul.
My life is a consistent fog. And the fog is dark, So dark that I cannot rest, nor park, Iâm a restless wanderer with anxiety and grief, Mom, tell me! Where is the relief? Where shall I go? Where shall I hide? I need to believe. But donât you see, Whatâs fighting there inside of me?
You know, Mom. I fell inside that hole. Many years ago. It hurts. So please, just let me go, I canât resist this compulsive thought, You know, Iâve tried, I fought. I cried. But I know that might, Have never been enough. Iâm tough. Thatâs what people say, But Iâm walking inside wet clay. So gray that it may stay - forever. And I will never - be enough.
Mom! You asked me how I am and I always said Iâm good, But now I know I should, Have told you about my fears, And all the tears, That I wasnât able to cry, that I wasnât able to feel, Mom, now I just want to heal!
I cannot sleep during the night, Cannot say whatâs wrong or right And I might, just fight, And maybe that will be okay, But thereâs just shades of black and gray. Where is the harbor? Where could I rest? Mom! Iâm dying from the pressure in my chest. I cannot breathe, my head, my voice, I guess Iâve never had a choice. Or maybe, maybe I had and I went wrong. It has been so long, Since I last saw the sun, felt a little bit of fun. Mom! Iâm always on the run. I canât! I need to rest, I want to go, Please, forgive me, that I never let you know, About those nightmares in my head, Forcing me to stay in bed. But you know what? My favorite color has always been red. Like blood, like war, like battle, like death, Itâs just a matter of time, Until anxiety is taking my last breath.
Mom? You remember when you asked me how I am, I always said Iâm good, But now I know I should, Have told you about my fears, And all the tears, That I wasnât able to cry, that I wasnât able to feel, Mom? Please, I just want to heal.
I always wanted to be like the others, Or my brothers. Who got support and love, and trust, While I thought that I must, Rock this world, be independent and brave Maybe thatâs the moment where I fell in that grave. The grave - inside my head, my chest, a hole. Reaching deep insight, and poisoning my soul.
I felt different and wrong, Since I never came along - with others. And so never belong - to the gangs or groups in school. Which made me feel like a damn fool. I feel different and wrong, Not like them, not like me, not like anyone. I lost myself, my faith, my soul, Spent too much time inside that hole.
So Mom, if you will ask me how I am or how I feel, Maybe one day I have the strength to reveal, That my life is a consistent lie, And Iâm longing for the moment to die. This pain is killing me inside, And every part of me that died, Took a part of my soul, my inner child, That was once so happy and smiled - Long ago. Please, forgive me, that I never let you know.
I know youâre there and youâre the harbor that brought me through, And you know I love you. But love cannot repair my soul, That has been too long in this damn hole.
Mom? Please forgive me that I started to lie, But I canât handle this pain. I love you, Goodbye.
Ich kĂśnnte einen Sturm in mir haben und ihr wĂźrdet mich nicht einmal wanken sehen.

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Ich kann gerade nicht in geringster Weise beschreiben wie ich mich fßhle. Ich kann auch nicht mehr beschreiben, was ich fßhle. Es fßhlt sich an als wäre da nichts und trotzdem so viel.
Ich fĂźhle einfach nichts mehr nur so eine Schwere und kann nicht mehr benennen, wie es mir geht. Da ist ein groĂes Loch in mir, in dem ich mich immer mehr verliere. Nichts hat mehr eine Bedeutung. Ich nehme mich selbst nicht mehr richtig wahr. Ich fĂźhle mich nicht mehr existent und so unbeteiligt, als wäre ich kein Teil des Lebens mehr.
- irgendwo gelesen
"FĂźhl mich so allein mit diesen Gedanken, obwohl so viele Menschen da sind."
âOne of the risks of being quiet is that the other people can fill your silence with their own interpretation: Youâre bored. Youâre depressed. Youâre shy. Youâre stuck up. Youâre judgmental. When others canât read us, they write their own story â not always one we choose or thatâs true to who we are.â
â Sophia Dembling
Es ist kein "Ich will oder mĂśchte" sondern eher ein "Warum eigentlich nicht?!"

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when i say âiâm just chillingâ iâm most likely suffering
Keiner bleibt bei mir.
I hate myself for every decision I've made
âIâm so tired of being broken.â
â
"Habt ihr mal von second suicide gehĂśrt? Das ist wenn ihr sterben wollt, aber zu viel Angst davor habt es zu tun. Und so hofft ihr dass euch etwas anderes tĂśdet. Wie ein Autounfall oder eine tĂśtliche Krankheit, damit ihr es nicht tun mĂźsst. Wie auch immer, das ist wie ich fĂźhle."
my-privatlife

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Ich hasse mich. Ich hasse alles was ich tu und alles was ich bin.
âThe way they leave tells you everything.â
â Rupi Kaur