emotional pain - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
He wasn't an alcoholic, well not exactly. He was addicted to cheap stunts that boosted his ego at the expense of my own. Good people feel good when they lift others up, poisonous people feel good when they put others down. Good people get addicted to doing good. Poisonous people get addicted to causing the hurt. He'd talk me into helping him sweetly, as if he had some work to be done. He'd ask me to sing, a vulnerable thing to do, then say my voice was too hoarse and not up to his standards. I wish I'd stood up for myself, yet when you are being so emotionally drained by another person it's harder to do than it would appear. I never mustered enough courage to speak to his face, only calling him a lot of names in my thoughts. I would release the pent-up energy on pen and paper. Once, in youthful innocence, I believed that my situation would change, but with the passage of time, it was my attitude that changed. I lost faith in him. I realised that I would be happier if he'd leave me alone, if I could gain the space to grow into being the kind of positive person I can be proud of, a person who brings others emotional support instead of pain.
When emotional pain comes, I let it sit at my kitchen table with me for a little while... just long enough to feel the emotion and gain new perspectives upon it. Then I open the front door and invite it to leave. This way I'm solid, real to myself and others, yet not wallowing but enabled to embrace my future free in a healthy way, reaching forwards with confidence.
Others would have emotional scars, not you, you're still bleeding because your heart is so strong. The thing is, you just need a new bond and you'll be fine, you'll be as good as new, still independent and strong. Love is as the blood in our veins, it needs to flow.
I will (n)ever love you, because you (n)ever cared, and I will (n)ever keep my heart open and (n)ever wait for your return. For this love of (y)ours, was (n)ever meant to be eternal.
People can grow strong enough to whisper at the iron bars that hold them and see them bend out of their way, like the most crazy magic. That's what love can do: fix souls, fix brains, cure us all. I wish I could have mastered that way, but it's hard when you've been starving for so long. You can sit and call for help. You can act like there is no cage, wear a mask of coping and normality. You can rage against the bars. Yet what love makes simple, no other thing can solve. There is another escape route, yet it is one into another great pain. It is possible to be so emotionally starved that you slip through the bars, no longer bound but with your soul crumbling. That was my way out. What followed was endless emotional marathons on bleeding knees. I learned how to hide the pain, how to look normal. I understand why some go cold inside to escape the pain of isolation, why they let their empathy wither and die: numbness over feeling, mental anesthesia. I refuse. The thing is, regardless of the pain, I believe that living with an incomplete soul is a form of death, and I'd rather be a humane human in pain than a zombie needing to bite others to feed.
There was something in that shout, a pain behind it. Lee watched. He watched Dean's eyes. Then he knew. The anger was nothing but a shield for pain, like a cornered soldier randomly throwing out grenades, scared for his life, lonely, desperate. He breathed in real slow. What if nothing blew up? What if there were no consequences? Wouldn't Dean have to calm down? Wouldn't the shield clatter to the ground and let the pain tumble out?
I see you. I do. I see pain in those eyes. It has sat there for your life time, trapped in the confusion we all carry. I see love too, the love you would have given were it not for the scars. It's still there baby, and one day I will set you free. I'm not perfect, yet I love you, and I know what love means. Give me a chance to find my feet, to stop my own head from spinning and I'll prove it. There is so much of your life that is a hell for your soul, and you stay there from strength rather than weakness I know. So let me join you in that pain, walk with you, feel the same torture I know you bare. And one day I'll find just the right way to bring you home, my love.
Once again my emotions turn jagged and my insides tight. I cry out to those in reach, "I love you, please help me. Come sit with me; hold my hand. Eat chips with me. Call me friend. Look into my eyes, connect, because I'm falling."
I wait, wide eyed, heart in my mouth, hoping for kindness. I need a hug, even if it is just words. I need soothing like a child. Instead they balk, "This isn't a great time. So much on at work and Greg is away on a trip. Let's just say I'll call you when I have the time."
"But I need help now, I'm lonely. I feel so abandoned. Just come, just help me. Won't you please, please help me? Say I can come see you; we'll just be together. I need you, need company. It would help so much." And then there are hot tears, ones they will never see, falling fast and thick onto my sweater. I feel the wetness of my skin and each drop as it emerges from open eyes.
"You know, sweet angel, I've always appreciated your spark and zest, you're a go getter, a survivor. I like that, you're gonna be just fine."
That's when I know. That's when the penny drops. Though I'm all grown up I'm a kid in time-out again. So I know what to do, this is familiar in a way that is traumatic. I swallow down the pain, eat it up into my belly and wear a passive face, a tentative smile and act meek. Tara can't see it, but the acting out takes me to where I need to be. "Yes. You're right. I'm so sorry, I'll be ok. I have some exciting new projects coming up. Give my love to Cindy." It works. She is satisfied - still thinking I'm errant, not quite right, but at least showing a will to fit the mould.
Emotional pain has a biological purpose, to teach, to educate us away from unhealthy patterns and relationships. I've been pushing back against pain for so long, medicating with friendship, with romantic notions, yet it returns in my weaker moments, devastating my mind. To keep repeating this pattern will only prolong it, keep the pain underneath when in truth it must rise. Today I make a new choice, one to welcome it as a friend, to let it teach me what it must. Though I will be weaker in the moment, I will be stronger afterward. I will let it in through my doors, sit at my table, talk until I am wiser even though each word is a silver blade. They say only the strongest of warriors choose their battles, this is mine, let me earn my name.
Your emotional pain seeps out in your words and it hurts to hear them, hurts to read them. I sense what is inside that troubles you, yet also there is so much goodness there too, bravery, tenacity. You hold on like a fighter, every morning rising at the ringing of "the bell." All I can offer you is a brighter horizon, a hope that one day you'll be free of all this. One day there will be choice, freedom and security of food, shelter on a healthy Earth. Hang on, baby, hang on.
You know you are in endless pain when you wake up one morning and realize that you are dead, buried and forgotten by those who are dear and close to you but alive and kicking to strangers, a people who don’t give a damn about you. You know you will forever be in pain when you wake up in the morning, with a jolt, to an emotionless face of someone who tells you nothing but to go out and kill, take another human’s life or yours would be taken in more painful ways than you can imagine. You know pain when you go to sleep with it every night and you see yourself being lowered in your own grave but when you scream to those mourning and burying you your screams are whimpers that no one hears.
When Benjamin looks my way I can see he's one more blow away from breaking. It's intervention time. I know where he's heading and no matter the name of the town it's nowhere good. So I have to step up right now or loose him forever, demonstrate my love with my actions, show that I would die for him, suffer for him, yet ultimately, live for him.
Emotional pain leaves invisible scars, yet they can be traced by the most gentle of touch. Sometimes, like a cyst, the "wound" must be opened to be healed; other times a well meaning person may seek to heal what should be left alone. If it can be ignored and a normal happy life resumed, isn't it kinder to have faith in the natural healing process?
I've never been a person to hold a grudge, instead seeking to understand the motives of another. It doesn't mean there is no scar, only that I need have no forgiveness of the other. To forgive you must first resent, or at least that is my understanding. Perhaps that's why I heal so well, I'm not sure. But either way, my life is wonderful.
Nobody wants to hurt, yet if my pains can be used to help others, I am blessed. Anyhow, perhaps my scars are my road-map, maybe I'd be lost without them.
I knew when it started it would break me. I knew that there was too much below deck not to shatter my carefully laid floor when it came up. Breaking was hard, recovery almost impossible, but of my journey I am making the best map I possibly can. Drawing it out the way I do helps, painting it in fine oils daily. Emotional pain is hard, but using in a way that helps others feels like stabbing the devil in the heart.
If we hear with our hearts, we can care and not scare, we can heal and bring ointment to invisible wounds in the hope they can be reduced to scars and fade in time.
Emotional pain isn’t felt the way a cut or bruise is. This is much different and only you can tell it is there. Sometimes the pain is at the back of your mind like a pulse. Other times it pushes itself forward demanding attention. Cutting your heart and mind in half Stinging with every breath you take.
I had never felt so alone, so lost... So incapable of doing even the smallest tasks. And this was only the beginning, the beginning of the pain, the suffering and the endless congo line of emotions that were in store for me.
I feel more connected to you than any man I ever met. I love the feel of your arms, your touch, your embrace, but it kills me. I get lost in your eyes, happy to drown, yet I must breathe. There comes a point in all natural romances where they must progress or implode, where the status quo becomes a torture, the medicine becomes a toxin. Mike, we went past that point so long ago.
I know your reasons; I respect and understand them, support you. I won't walk away because I promised I'd always stay, but my coping with this can't ever be guaranteed. You say I am closer to you than she is, understand you, fulfil gaps in your life, that you need me in the long term, that you'd runaway with me if you could. I say "I love you," you say you "care." If my emotions are stronger than yours, why is it you that can't let go? I need your honesty; I think I deserve the truth.
"I feel so raw today; like there is no skin over my pain and the wind makes it bleed."
There is a point in trauma when empathy from others has healed all it can and the rest is up to you. Then it is a time to release the hands that held you when you were in free-fall. This part takes courage; leaving dependance is hard, even when the desire for recovery is strong. It takes a lion-heart to walk past fear as if were a simple ghostly vapour. Yet how do you know when to walk alone?
Once the smallest warmth reaches your heart unaided, when you can sense the light, feel the dawn, my love, it is time. Even then, your first moves will be backwards toward the abyss - trust yourself, this time is different, you will make it. Though every footfall feels like a funeral, and the world carries on like a movie without a script, and the birdsong feels as if it comes from another place and time - hold on to your own soul, to your own self.
I know there are days when the brain feels naked, like a wintry wind blusters in icy chaos. I know there are days when it would be a blessing not to feel at all. I know there are days when the need to curl up in strong arms is greater than the need to breathe. Yet I can say with honesty, that this is the time to believe in yourself. Love those who have supported you and still do; be thankful for the help they have given - for it is a form of love; keep these bonds strong.
To walk alone means to gain your independence, true freedom, a rare gift - isolation is something different, wrong and imposed by others, a cruelty. When the choice is truly yours the mind and body are ready to heal, to find true and full recovery. Believe. Be brave. You can.
Chanyeol couldn't help but compare the night with his own state of mind. Just like those clouds, his insides were in a chaos. A mess. Something was bothering him. Something was hurting him. Something ached inside him. Something felt so wrong, so invalid but Chanyeol couldn't tell what. He tried to pin point the cause for this unexplained pain but failed. He tried to reason this unbearable burning but didn't find any. Everything felt so confused, just like a jumbled set of a puzzle.
A puzzle that Chanyeol didn't know how to solve.
How hollow I feel. . .
It's like those chocolate bunnies people used to buy around the time of Easter.
A sweet shell encapsuling a world of nothing.
I'm like that.
I encapsule a world of nothing.
Tobias rested his eyes upon the leaves, fluttering in the garden. In the light of day you could never tell of the storm they had suffered the night before, of the winds that howled and tore their brethren from branches to ground. They reflected the soft sun rays, gave of their colours with that quiet joy nature sings of, that silent music we love to hear. Yet he also saw the plucked leaves, swirling in the gusting wind, the subtle “tells” of the hardship only recently passed. In that moment he wondered what people would make of him; would they see “tells” of his storm? the way his eyes were slow and mouth heavy at the corners? Would they see the tears un-cried? And if they did, if they saw that emotional debris, knowing how the grief hurricane returns over and over, would they shine for him like the sun on the trees or treat him like she were on the other side of glass, ensuring that his storm never chilled their own skin, much less clipped at their souls.
If love can fade, then so can pain.