AlphaMoist

Okay well I enjoyed the read, at the very least

The lore I’ve been waiting for

******* crying in the club right now, F

“We haven’t even started classes yet what the ****”  A man said manlyly 

spooky

They didn’t spam me to rep their **** this time so now I’m choosing to rep their ****; good job mark

     A man lay against his bedroom floor, shaking uncontrollably, frothing at the mouth. This was something that had become routine for him. When his seizures first showed their prominence to him, he hated them ferociously. Then, he learned to live with them, accepting them as a part of who he was. Now, once again, the spasms brought him nothing but pain and reminded him of his never ending misery.

     “R-release me from my b-burdens,” he mumbled amongst his writhing. “P-please, Mother, r-release my from m-my burdens.” His eyelids were shut so tightly that the rocky orbs hidden behind them were chafing his very flesh. While he wept, he did not cry. He merely bled.

     This man knew his soul was lost. He did not care. He embraced the fact that his soul was the Mother’s to have after his death, cherished the idea, even. While others would spend their eternity in Ebrietæs, his heart warmed at the thought of spending the rest of time unending within the rays of the loving grace his deity so regularly bathed him in. Truly, he was by far the most appreciative of Her believers. He spread the love of Her word with more fervor than any task he had set himself towards before. In return, She gave him a great multitude of gifts that many would, nay - have, killed for. 

     But he did not want them anymore.

     “Release me from my burdens!” he wailed as his spine bent backwards unnaturally. A loud, singular pop echoed loudly between the middle of his vertebrae, and the Exalted was stripped of his breath. He released a strong gasp as his rampant, uncontrollable movements halted entirely, and he collapsed onto the hardwood floor below him.

     He was frozen there, eyes clamped shut as he covered them with his hands, drowning out any inkling of light that could have possibly invaded his golden irises. “I need not your power,” he quietly murmured between his breaths, “I need not your gifts or promise of immortality to love and obey you - I can spread your knowledge and way of life to the ignorant and worthy without such gratitude.

     “Please, take my soul, take my life, rip my very existence from my cold, dead hands once I’m gone. Just please, please, Dearest Mother, Arun’Asna, Savior of Shades, Daughter of Iblees: listen to my cries once more, I beg of  you:

     “Strip the Amber from my veins. Give me back my mortality. Deliver me from my torment.

     “Release me from my burdens.”

On 7/31/2020 at 2:42 PM, Zacho said:

Jaded LT Member
-Writes forum posts using magic that no one else cares about or even follows
-Writes forums posts about their character doing literally anything except actually rping on the server

please delete this holy ****

good stuff

Part 1 

I’m laying in my bed utterly still. Darkness surrounds me, and to those pressing their ears against my bedroom door, to those peeking inside, they will hear nothing, and they will see nothing.

But I can hear everything.

I can see everything.

I can feel everything.

My heart pounds inside my chest, creating a rhythmic metronome to remind myself that I am still alive. It pumps its life giving ichor through my veins, and I can feel this fluid flowing through me just as plainly as I can feel the blankets that cover my body. No, it doesn’t pump. Not right now. My heart bleeds.

This horrific leech, my monster’s friend, seemingly sucks my very will from my body, growing heavier and heavier the longer it remains attached. I know it will not let go until it crushes me with its agonizing and growing mass. I cannot move. I cannot speak. I cannot breath. I am trapped within my mind, within my body, and the longer I am trapped, the further away reality strides.

My monster stands in the corner of my vision, just barely out of focus, but just enough so I’m constantly reminded of its presence. It stands there, mocking me, laughing at me, hating me. It kneels down low, just so its multicolored lips can gently press ever so close to my ear, and it begins to whisper its sweet, horrible utterances, and I am its only witness. 

And with its utterances, come the thoughts.

The thoughts, the questions, the answers I come up with, the questions that form from those answers, they all come at me in a barrage, unfiltered. Relentless. I’m powerless to stop them. There’s far too many of them. Every word the monster puts inside my head becomes its own independent thought that generates more questions and more answers and even more questions. I can’t keep up with myself. I begin losing myself in the madness. Before I succumb, however, my monster’s friend chimes in, and it offers me something to focus my ponderance on.

Why am I the way I am?

It’s so simple to blame the monster for how I act, how I feel, how I behave. Objectively, it is the monster’s fault. But its friend? I can’t blame it for anything. It doesn’t tell me lies, it doesn’t make me do anything I don’t want to do. No, it does something far, far worse.

The monster’s friend- the leech, this slug, it has a name. Depression. And Depression shows me the truth. 

I am the way I am because I am me. I am the result of all my actions, every word I’ve said, every thought I’ve made, every experience I have lived through, and every decision I have left behind, they all make me, me. I am me because of what I have done, and I have done what I’ve done because I am me. 

It tells me I’m a bad person. I ask it what makes a bad person.

It tells me that a bad person is someone who hurts people. My father hurt our family when he abandoned us. He is a bad person. My step-father killed two people in a gas station. He is a bad person. I hurt one of my best friends, made the love of my life cry, tore apart my friendships, lost my favorite pastime. I am a bad person.

Does it matter at all that I didn’t mean to? Does it matter at all that I didn’t want to hurt anyone? Does it matter at all that I would give anything to make what I did right, does it matter at all that I feel so horrible and sick to my stomach at what I did, does it matter at all that I have sworn to my deity and everyone else there is to swear to that I would make sure my heart would stop beating before I hurt anyone like that ever again?

No, the leech tells me. 

And I believe it. 

In what world could a father who abandons his child be redeemed? In what world could a man who takes two lives and ruins three families be saved? In what world, in what way, could I make the hurt I caused go away? 

The slug fills my head with these thoughts, and the monster makes me see them before my very eyes. It makes me hear the crying, it makes me feel the pain, it makes me smell and taste the salt of the tears of those I hurt, and with every emotion, with every sensation comes another thought, another regret, another surge of anguish, and another apology that needs to be given.

I’m sorry, I cry out, be it in my mind or from my throat, I can never tell. But I scream the words. I scream the words until my tonsils grow coarse and my head pulses and aches in torment. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry. I’m sorry to anyone I’ve ever hurt, I’m sorry to everyone I’ve ever wronged. To the people I hate I’m sorry I hated you, to the people I’ve bothered I’m sorry I’ve bothered you, I screech these words in any way that I can.

I can finally move, I can finally breathe, but I am not free. I crawl into myself, I hug the nearest pillow I can, and I begin to smother myself against its fluff. I don’t deserve to move, I don’t deserve to breathe, and I can never be free. These thoughts, they never leave me. They are always in the back of my mind, the monster just waiting and biding time for the perfect moment to unleash my full unbridled focus onto them.

In truth, I never stop thinking about what I’ve done. There is never a moment where the hurt I’ve caused others is not among the hundreds of thoughts running through my mind at any given second. I just tuck them away, far in the back of my skull, so I can function in a way that allows me to hide how I feel.

The monster and the leech make me feel everything. 

The blood coursing through my veins, the blood bleeding out of my heart, it burns hot like the fires of hell to which I belong. I want to rip it out of my skin, let the fluid rush against my flesh and soak into my sheets. I want to be free from the awful sensation inside of my arteries, I want to hurt myself as much as I’ve hurt everyone else. 

The bronchial tubes inside my lungs, I can fill their ends absorb as much oxygen as they can, but they just can’t absorb enough. My lungs, they burn, they’re tight, I can’t breathe, I gasp and I choke but I just can’t breathe. My aveoli pop from the stress, bursting like the balloons they are. I scream and I scream but no sound is emitted, and my face begins to turn blue.

My eyes, so dry they are, but they continue to pour their rain against my cheeks. Even my own goddamn tears burn, leaving red blisters against my skin. Everything burns. Everything burns so, so much.

It’s what I deserve, Depression tells me.

And I believe it. 

I’m forced to believe it. I want to believe it. I do not deserve forgiveness. I do not deserve understanding. I deserve to hurt, and I want to make myself hurt as much as I’ve hurt everyone else. But no cut would suffice. No blade could inflict myself with the harm I’ve inflicted onto others. No bullet could satiate my need for pain. No rope can choke me into redemption. My thoughts are all I need, and all I need are my thoughts.

I did this to myself, the monster tells me. 

And I believe it.

The beast spits on me, watching me tremble where I lay. Once again, I’m left with my thoughts. But these are not the monster’s thoughts, and these are not the words of the poisonous slug. These are my own thoughts, the thoughts I want to feel.

If I deserve this, why do people still care about me? Why do I get to enjoy the love of my friends and my family? Why has my lover forgiven me? If all these people care for me, love me, if the person I adore about most can forgive me, why can’t I forgive myself? Why can’t I stop hurting from the damage I’ve caused? People make mistakes I am told, I tell myself, I tell others, people can be forgiven. So why can I not forgive myself?

I’m left with these questions, and I consider them carefully. The sensation of my blood flowing between my muscles begins to fade, my breathing begins to calm, and I’m left with a headache, pained eyes, and my thoughts. But these thoughts are mine, this time. I’m the one choosing to think them. The emotions are in the back of my mind, but for now, the fog that once surrounded them is clear. 

These emotions, they will stay with me throughout my day. The nightmares the monster created using its thoughts, they stay with me throughout my day as well. What do I do with my nightmares? I turn on my laptop, I open a word document, and I start typing. Another nightmare, another new story. Perhaps it will work the same way. Perhaps all I need to get these emotions out of my mind is another story. Another emotion, another story.

So, I turn on my laptop. I open a word document. I start typing. I let the thoughts the monster throws at me run wild. I type and I type, the clicking of the keyboard becomes my symphony, the words on the screen become my painting. With every letter, another emotion, with every emotion, another tear, with every tear, my mind becomes clear. I begin smiling at my work, feeling proud of what I’m able to do. When I write, I focus. Clearly. For the first time in years I can focus clearly. Another letter, another letter, another letter. There are no distractions. Time becomes meaningless and I am free to express myself without fear of being a disruption or an annoyance to anyone or anything. 

Sentences mean structure; paragraphs mean organization. Two concepts I’ve never before been able to grasp with my ADHD riddled mind, and they’re both right here in front of me. Pride begins to swell, the page count increases, dopamine rushes to my brain, much needed dopamine floods into my brain, desperately needed dopamine fills my brain! I feel normal when I write. I feel happy when I write. My unanswered questions, my thoughts, my emotions, my pain, my torment, my misery, they become my inspiration. They fuel me with purpose. What once crippled me becomes my leverage. It’s a euphoric rush, and when I’m finally done, I read what I’ve crafted, and I read it again. I smile, and I smile some more. I fix the mistakes, fill in the gaps, polish what I can. 

I become satisfied. And when I become satisfied, I post what I’ve written. I hope the emotions I’ve laced into my words seep into the people reading them. I hope the people reading these words find a captivating sense of enjoyment when they scroll their mouse wheel to read further. I hope those who need something to relate to will be able to relate to this. I hope I can improve someone’s day. I hope I can make them forget about the outside world. I hope I can make them forget about their troubled lives, if only for a moment. I hope that, through this, through improving the lives of others in everything I try to do from here on out with my writings, with my volunteer work, with my day to day interactions and conversations, maybe I can feel deserving of forgiveness. Maybe I can forgive myself. 

Until then, my monster’s friend will return every now and then. The monster will shove me into the deepest pit it can dig, and the leech will thrive off of my dwindling will. Eventually, the leech will leave, and I will climb out of whatever hole I’ve been abandoned in. I will be left with my crowding thoughts and my experiences, and I will use them all to craft another work of art that I can be proud of. I can force the monster into becoming my tool. Maybe one day, I can make it my friend. I’ll post my works of fiction as often as I can, but even this still triggers more thoughts. The thoughts never leave, and of course, they mean that my monster is at work yet again.What even is fiction? If I craft something from my nightmares, from sensations and feelings that I have physically felt and witnessed, is it still fiction? If the emotions are real, is the term fiction still appropriate?

When does a work of fiction, loosely based on reality, become nonfiction? When does a work of  nonfiction become a diary? When does a diary become a biography? When does a biography become an admission of guilt? When does an admission of guilt become a suicide letter? 

When does a suicide letter become an apology? 

When does an apology become acceptance? 

When does acceptance become forgiveness?

My monster has a friend. 

This friend isn’t around all the time like my monster is. It only comes around sometimes. However, when it does visit me, it can make my life feel like a living hell.

If I had to describe what my monster looks like, I would say it is a tall, lanky figure with brightly colored skin patterned in stripes that constantly move and twist about its gaunt form. My monster’s friend, in contrast, would seem like a pitch black leech made up of a cold, malicious goo. 

While my monster may roam about wherever it would like, free to show me anything and everything in a room in order to keep my focus scattered and my mind distracted, its friend is unable to move at all. It simply attaches to my chest, ingraining its razor sharp teeth into my flesh so deeply that no matter what I do, I cannot find the strength required to rip it away from me. Only when it has fed on my misery and pain to the point of satiation does it finally release me from its circular jaws, and at that point, my monster tucks it away somewhere nice and safe until its friend grows hungry once again, or at least until my monster feels like I need to be punished again. 

Like I said, my monster’s friend isn’t around all the time. Sometimes I can go days or weeks without it visiting. When it does visit, it can decide to remain present for hours, or days, or even weeks. Sometimes it likes to tease me. It will visit me, then release me, only to come back an hour later to let me know it wasn’t finished feeding. This process of leaving and returning can occur constantly throughout a day or throughout several days. It’s never the same thing every single time, and the monster’s friend always finds a way to leave me guessing.

Usually when my monster’s friend comes around, it’s because the monster has been up to no good, jumbling my mind and making me say things I don’t mean to say. Someone online may call me stupid, my fiancee may ask me to calm down, or the monster may just force a distant or not so distant memory into my mind. There are a variety of triggers, and some will work better than others or not at all depending on the day. Nevertheless, when something catches my attention, it catches it. And I don’t let go of it.

Someone says something that hurts me. The monster forces me to read the message. It forces me to read it again. And again. The entirety of my attention is drawn to it, and the outside world fades away completely for the moment. The monster drives a knife into my chest to let me know how these words are supposed to make me feel, and then this monster tells me the person behind the words is who hurt me, not it. Why did they hurt me? Did I annoy them? Was I being annoying? I wasn’t trying to be annoying. I’m trying to make other people laugh. I like making people laugh, it brightens up their day and makes me feel good. What if no one was laughing? What if everyone was thinking the same thing this one person was thinking but were keeping their thoughts to themselves out of pity? Does everyone think the same thing about me? What did I do to make these people think so horribly about me? I begin looking at past messages, conversations, I begin to understand, I begin to think the same thing about myself. I never meant to annoy anyone, that was never my intention. I just wanted-

And so the monster, this beast of a thousand colors, this fiend who brought my mind into a state of panic, decides that it's time to bring his friend. It wanders to the darkest corner of the room, its long, winding legs bending at all the wrong angles as it kneels down, peeling back the shadow from the wall to reveal a writhing, disgusting creature that whimpers and screeches for hunger. The monster brings its friend to me, while I’m so caught up in my flurry of thoughts and emotions that I can’t even move or do anything to fight back. I’m sitting or laying there motionless, whether it be on my couch, at the dinner table, in my bed, in my office at work, it does not matter, it never matters, nothing ever matters. When my monster decides he wants to invite his friend, then his friend will come, and I will be powerless to stop it.

I’m always so powerless to stop it.

The monster gently sets its friend onto my chest, mocking the perception that it cares for something other than itself. Its friend, this writhing slug of misery, it bites down onto my chest, and at that point, it’s too late. A shockwave of dread and anguish surges through my body, my heart feels like it’s being sucked into the leech’s mouth, and any energy I had left is immediately drained away, being sapped by the monster’s friend as both it and the monster howl in laughter and chuckles that only I can hear.

It hurts to move. It hurts to speak. It takes so much energy to do anything at all. Even the act of thinking brings me great agony and strife, but all I can do is think. And think. And think. And think.

Just because the monster has its friend over does not mean it is any less active. This monster is always with me, and it never ever leaves. 

This monster, this brightly colored living mosaic, it just gets stronger the weaker I become. Sometimes it’s kind enough to drag me into my bed so I may be secluded in the dark, but even in the dark, when I cannot see anything, I can still see everything. Memories, thoughts, emotions, I can see everything. 

And when I can see everything, I can feel everything.

Part 2 

I thought the entire point of heralds was as like some sort of thing for people to prepare for Azdrazi. Regardless: 

There’s like almost no overlying theme with this. To quote someone I was talking to about this: “make your abilities relevant, concise, and at least partially original” 

It just kind of seems Herald was given a bunch of different abilities that are already present in other lore pieces. They can make illusions, heal people, you got all kinds of fire stuff in there, some seer abilities, you can manifest ghosts which is absolutely something that should be reserved for mystics, I’ve been told by a necro player that there wasn’t any consultation to the necro player base regarding anti-undead abilities which is, in my opinion, in poor taste, unless that player was just wrong. Like, everything is just all over the place. There’s no fluidity to it. 

Again, this is just my opinion, but I think the baseline Azdrazi lore needs to be touched up upon before you even consider adding stuff onto Heralds. When I see people talking about Azdrazi, nine times out of ten they’re talking about how OP they are. Normally this doesn’t hold any weight because players can be a bit silly sometimes, but I actually voted on the current Azdrazi write up, and I can very easily see where they’re coming from. It just doesn’t make sense to me to add an expansion pack to something that was more or less perfectly fine to begin with when you have bigger issues to worry about.

Again, just my opinion. Not trying to start anything here, just voicing my overall concerns. 

LOL ******* nerd, water evocation, get a load of this cringy emo ****

I live with a monster.

I don’t mean that in the sense that my roommate is a killer, or that my house is haunted, no. Only I live with this monster. Just me. Only I can see it, and only I can feel its presence. Just me.

I’ve lived with this monster all my life. I used to think it was my friend when I was younger. It always gave me so much energy, and I felt like I could do whatever I wanted with it. Only now do I recognize it as what it is: a malevolent creature that only seeks to drive me to the lowest pit it can, just so it can laugh at me. It never physically harms me. It never hurts the people I love. It doesn’t behave like most monsters you read about in scary stories or what you see in movies. This monster, unfortunately, is real, and that means it has more to its agenda than to provide entertainment to an audience.

What does this monster do, then, if it doesn't behave like what we believe a monster should? Well, I’ll tell you.

It talks to me. Not with its own voice, but with mine. Inside my head. It constantly chatters away using my voice, using my own thoughts. I don’t want to think about the things it makes me think, but I don’t have a choice. It just forces me to, and I can’t control it. 

I don’t have a good grasp of what silence is actually like because of this monster. The quieter things are around me, the more it talks and the louder it gets. That doesn’t mean a loud background makes things easier, however. The louder my environment is and the more noise going on just increases the amount of thoughts this monster shoves into my head. I become aware of everything going on around me to the point where I don’t know anything about what’s going on around me. 

The monster tells me that the blender in the background reminds me of a tornado. The tornado makes me ponder when the last time the tornado sirens went off in my town. The sirens make me question what I would do in the event a tornado touched down near my house. This makes me wonder if I should look about getting a tornado shelter. The tornado shelter makes me realize that it would be better off if I were to just get a new house with a tornado shelter pre-installed. This makes me realize that I don’t have the money to just up and get a new house. What would I need to do to get a new house? Well, I could save up for it, but it would help a lot more if I could get a supervisor position at my security job. I’m fourth in seniority, and no one more experienced wants the job, and no one below my seniority is more qualified than I am. In fact, I’m second in seniority for night shift. The first in seniority is an elderly man named Jerry. He had a heart attack a couple weeks ago and is still in the hospital. I hope he’s alright. He’s my neighbor, I should visit him when he gets back and get him a card. But cards are boring, surely that wouldn’t be-

My fiancée snaps her fingers at me; I’ve zoned out entirely. She looks at me, as if expecting an answer. She asks if I’ve been listening to her at all, to which I tell her that I zoned out. She chuckles, calling me cute, and she sits down, drinking the smoothie she just made. 

This thought process is constantly going on inside my mind, and the monster just laughs in the background, knowing how stupid I look when I lose focus of reality. The example I gave was benign, but often it has consequences, such as my fiancée informing me of an after school activity our daughter is joining, which leaves me confused and worried and anxious when I realize she hasn’t come home after school for a while. I call her on the phone, asking her where she’s at. My daughter can hear the frustration in my tone, but I’m just worried. She explains about what she’s doing, and she tells me that my fiancée told her that she said I was okay with it. I don’t bother asking my fiancée for confirmation. She’ll just be upset that I wasn’t listening to her. It wasn’t my fault, it’s the monster that makes me lose my focus. And all the while, it’s laughing at me in the background.

Sometimes, the monster makes me uncomfortable. It tells me how odd my body feels, and it tells me the only thing that will make me feel better is if I move. So, I tap my leg on the ground. It’s not enough, so I strum my fingers against my office desk. It makes an annoying sound I don’t like, so the monster tells me to make noises with my mouth. I used to do this all the time as a child: I would suck in air between my cheeks, and I would push it against the front of my teeth, my lips being pressed against them. I suppose it kind of sounds like a squealing pig. I used to think no one else could hear it, but one time in fourth grade, a girl I liked told me to shut up, and she called me annoying. Then the class chimed in and teased me. I only do this when I’m alone now, but it helps me feel more comfortable.

This was a favorite activity the monster once relished in. It enjoyed making me forget about the world around me until I became comfortable with the thoughts it shoves inside my skull, and then it made me do things or make sounds until someone around me told me to stop. This was very common in middle school, but enough people made fun of me for it that I learned how to suppress the urges, even if it hurt to do so. Now that I’m no longer in school, it doesn’t happen anymore.

I’m normally at home or at work. My fiancée isn’t bothered by the things I spontaneously do, so the monster seeks other routes to spur its entertainment. This usually manifests when I’m online.

When I’m online, I try to almost always be active in any group chat that has people inside of it. Talking to people distracts me from the monster, but the monster doesn’t really like that. So, when I’m having fun, and my guard is down, the monster will make me say whatever it decides to throw inside my head. It turns off my filter entirely. I will say things that are weird or annoying or stupid, and while it can be very entertaining for those that I’m talking with, it doesn’t just stop there. It keeps going, and it keeps going, until I become cringe inducing and flat out idiotic with what I say. The moment this occurs, someone normally tells me to stop doing what I’m doing, or they call me annoying or stupid. Sometimes the monster will have such a strong grip on me that these words don’t matter at that exact moment, and I continue until they matter. 

This is another thing the monster loves to enjoy. Eventually, or sometimes immediately, the monster forces me to focus on the words other people say. Their criticisms, their insults, even sometimes their passive jokes that the monster forces me to take the wrong way. The monster will repeat what they’ve said, over and over and over and over. Then the thought process begins. The thoughts turn into a jumble of how I’m constantly annoying. The monster tells me that I’m a freak. I have no friends, they all hate me, they all think I’m annoying. They only keep me around for mindless entertainment when they’re bored, and when they get tired of me, they’ll throw me away. I’m annoying. I’m stupid. Over and over again. I’m annoying. I’m stupid. 

Oftentimes I’ll go out of my way to apologize to people I think I’ve upset. Normally, they don’t even know what I’m referring to. Other times they’ll brush it off and say it’s fine. This can ease my emotions, and I’ll laugh the situation off with them. However, when the monster isn’t satisfied, when it just wants to throw me into the deepest pit it can create, that’s when things get worse. Allow me to explain.

Something I’ve commonly been told throughout my life is to ignore the monster. Everyone gets antsy sometimes, everyone loses focus sometimes, it’s not a big deal, there’s nothing wrong with me. Ignore it. That’s what everyone else does.

I can’t ignore it. That’s just not in the realm of possibilities with someone living with a monster like this. I can try to ignore it. I can try my damndest to brush it off, but I can’t. More often than not, trying to ignore it brings it to its worst.

It begins with me telling myself to sit still. I focus all my attention towards my feet, my hands, my tongue, and I force myself to remain quiet and motionless. Then I’ll start trying to focus on the task at hand, whatever it may be. I’ll tell the monster to shut up, I’ll tell the thoughts to be quiet. I will do my absolute best to clear my mind of any thoughts other than the task at hand. Time slows to a crawl, and the monster tries to get louder and louder.

I start noticing my heartbeat. It’s loud, a metronome I can’t turn off. Then I hear my breathing, I smell the air. I taste it with every inhale. I can feel the ends of my hair grind against my neck or scalp. It begins to itch. My muscles begin to ache because I’m not moving. I hear the flies buzzing in the background, I hear the clock ticking against the wall, I feel the cold, still air of my house touching my skin. I notice the sensation of the fabric of my clothing touching my flesh. That begins to itch as well. My shirt is too tight around my shoulders; I can feel the fabric bulging outwards due to the shape of my body. The front of my shirt is loose and wavy, only small portions of it touching my stomach. My socks are tight, my feet are hot, I can feel my heart pounding in my chest. I feel my ribs move every time I read. I feel my eyelids slide across my pupils every time I blink, I notice the sensation of my eyelashes rubbing together. 

Each of these sensations come with a new thought. Each of these thoughts become a long strand of voices playing out scenarios. Each of these scenarios produce new thoughts. New thoughts become new scenarios, new scenarios become new thoughts. I’m trapped in a feedback loop, the outside world goes dark, I forget what I’m doing, all I can do is move and think and think some more. My mind becomes a prison, trapping me in this over crowded cell that I can’t escape. My breathing escalates, I have so much energy that I can’t contain, but I physically cannot expel it. It’s as if a bomb is going off inside of my chest, and with each explosion comes more energy. I have trouble breathing, I want to scream and holler and jump and run. I want to do everything, but I can’t. My mind is so crowded and over populated with thoughts and emotions that I can’t focus on anything but the noise inside my head. This monster laughs at the utter joy it collects from my misery. My entire body is shaking, my fingers are tapping away, my feet are stomping on the ground, I’m saying absolutely anything and everything that’s popping off inside my head, I’m doing absolutely everything I can do to tire myself out but it just doesn’t work. Time is crawling like a snail and flying like a bullet all at the same time. I can’t make sense of anything. 

The sensory overload can end in a variety of ways. Sometimes, the monster will get bored, and my brain will just catch up to everything going on. Everything will go back to normal seamlessly, and I’ll completely forget about the episode that had just occurred. Sometimes, it ends in a meltdown, with the monster overwhelming me into full blown panic. 

The monster wouldn’t be so bad if it only gave me some of these symptoms at a time. It wouldn’t be so bad, truly, if it constantly wasn’t present. But it is always present. It never leaves, and it is never quiet. Silence is not something that exists in my life because of this monster. 

My mind is always in a state of uproar. I have to have something in the background at all times when I’m in a situation where I need to control the amount of thoughts inside my mind. Doing homework, chores, sleeping, sometimes even when I bathe. I always have to have an extra amount of stimuli or else I cannot complete what I want done. 

It affects my short term memory as well. The chaos that is my mind is almost always prevalent, and when I’m, say, getting ready for work, this isn’t an exception. I will be thinking about everything and anything relevant and irrelevant to me getting ready for work. This leads to me accidentally throwing away the thoughts I absolutely need, and it forces me to forget things. I can leave the house and walk back inside because I forgot something, then do this over and over again until I know for a fact that I have everything I need, only to find out I forgot something anyways. This leads to me being late very often for events and social promises. I normally have to start getting ready for things an hour before I leave my house simply to make sure I cover all of my bases. 

The monster can make me feel certain ways as well. My thoughts will be so crowded and jumbled and fast paced that I get angry and frustrated over the smallest of inconveniences. This anger could be caused by someone not understanding what I’m trying to explain to them, being told to do something I already planned on doing, or someone trying to talk to me during a sensory overload episode. If something isn’t going as fast as my brain is, that something is likely to set me off, and I’m sorry for this. It’s not me. I don’t want to lash out, and I don’t want to get upset so easily, but the monster makes me. No one is safe from this. My fiancée, my closest friends. Sometimes all it takes is me to rant about how I feel and I will feel better, sometimes I need to be told bluntly how I’m acting, and sometimes I just need a hug and to be told everything is okay. Again, I can’t control this. It’s the monster.

This is the life I live. Everyday I’m confronted with everything that goes on around me. It’s nearly impossible to focus on something unless I enter a state of hyperfocus, where I drown out absolutely everything surrounding me other than what I’m focusing on, which almost always has to be something that brings me pleasure and enjoyment. Otherwise, I’m almost always doing multiple things at once.

This isn’t just my life, either. I may be the only one who can be affected by my monster, but many other people also have their own monster like this. It’s somewhat common, and this monster has a name. Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder. Also known as ADHD or ADD, it affects nearly six million children and about four percent of adults in the United States alone. 

Scientists aren’t entirely certain what causes ADHD, however, the most generally accepted theory is that, somehow, those with ADHD don’t process enough dopamine, the reward chemical, inside of their brain. The lack of this chemical forces the brain to search for stimuli that will force it to produce more, which directly causes a lack of focus and easy excitability to those affected by ADHD. This is why someone with ADHD is normally aware of everything around them, and it’s also why people with ADHD are able to solely focus on one thing that brings enjoyment and satisfaction while also blocking out the entirety of the outside world. These two traits directly cause all of the symptoms of ADHD, including mood swings, hyperfocus, irritability, a lack of focus, a lack of motivation, being easy to distract, sensory overload, fidgeting, memory loss, impulsiveness, and even anxiety and depression. 

Many people are quick to assume that ADHD is benign and isn’t a serious detriment to the mind. Those people are wrong. Someone with ADHD can’t just turn it off, and they can’t ignore it either. They need to find coping mechanisms or take medication in order to keep it under control. It’s a genuine mental illness, just like depression, PTSD, schizophrenia, and everything in between. 

Children aren’t the only ones who have ADHD. Many adults have it as well, and that’s nothing to be ashamed of. The severity of symptoms can increase or decrease with age, but it’s always present. Once you have ADHD, you have it for life. Outgrowing it is a myth. You can only find ways, consciously or subconsciously, that helps you adapt to it. This is simple for some, or, in my case, far more difficult than others. 

It’s very likely that you know someone who says they have ADHD, diagnosed or not. You probably know that they aren’t too much different from you, they can just be annoying at times. It’s important to understand that people with ADHD aren’t outright trying to be annoying. They aren’t tapping their foot to irritate you, they’re just trying to cope with the all stimulus surrounding them, and the constant movement serves as an ample distraction, especially when trying to focus. When they get frustrated, it’s usually not because of you or any one reason, but most likely because of everything going on around them, both internally and externally. The stimuli can be exhausting and irritating, and sometimes even painful. When they get uppity and excited and hyperactive, that’s just their brain reacting to stimuli they find engaging, and the brain wants to hyperfocus on such activity so it can create as much dopamine as possible, since it usually doesn’t get enough in the first place. 

If any of these things are bothering you, just talk to your friend about it and ask them nicely to pay attention to what they’re doing. Sometimes, all someone with ADHD needs is to become self-aware of what they’re doing in order to calm down, and being self-aware is very very difficult when you have the equivalent of five people talking inside your head at one time. They may react poorly to your observation as well, because those with ADHD will often dwell on criticism, and they’ll begin producing negative thoughts inside of their head that linger until they find some sort of other distraction. Just press the fact that it’s alright and that you understand; you’re just trying to focus on your own stuff without a distraction. 

If you yourself believe you have ADHD and have not been diagnosed, it’s important to be tested. ADHD very regularly pairs itself with other mental illnesses that affect behavior. Ten percent of those affected by ADHD also have Tourettes, while sixty to eighty percent of those affected by Tourrettes have ADHD. About twenty percent of adults with ADHD will develop bipolar disorder, and about seventy percent of adults with bipolar disorder also have ADHD. About fifty percent of adults with ADHD also have anxiety disorder. Adults with ADHD are five times more likely to be diagnosed with depression than those without ADHD.  Understanding your ADHD and learning how to control it could very well assist with a variety of other issues you may have that you don’t even know you have. 

If you have been diagnosed with ADHD, it’s important to understand that your issues are not the fault of yourself. You aren’t annoying, mean, or anything else those intrusive thoughts may tell you. Your lack of focus isn’t your fault, and the fact that you have trouble organizing doesn’t make you a dirty, uncontrollable mess. All these issues are the fault of your ADHD, and many therapists and doctors will tell you that it’s important that you blame your ADHD for your issues and not yourself. This is very important for combating possible depression and suicidal thoughts. There are a variety of ways you can learn how to control your ADHD, with or without medication. In fact, learning how to control your ADHD can very much help you turn this disorder into a tool for you to use. 

It’s also important to understand that nothing “cures” ADHD. All medications for ADHD are similar to a pair of glasses for your eyesight. The glasses help you see, but as soon as you take them off, you won’t be able to see clearly. Wearing your glasses won’t ever fix your eyesight, they can only help you while you use it. This is exactly how ADHD medication is. So, if you find that your ADHD medication works extremely well, don’t stop taking it with the thought that your ADHD is fixed. You’re just going to start behaving exactly how you did before you started the medication.

Just because you have ADHD does not mean you yourself are the problem. ADHD is truly a monster that, when left unchecked, can really ruin your relationships, your work/school studies, and anything else in your life. Next time someone tells you that you need to just calm down, or that it’s all inside your head and it isn’t real, just shrug them off. Don’t take their ignorance personally, because only you know how you feel. Just focus on improving yourself, and when you’re in control of your monster, you’ll be able to use it to your advantage. 

A Mali’ame sets his toad catching jars out on his front porch. It’s going to be a good harvest this year, the man thinks to himself.

Vas is flabbergasted that anyone on Arcas could possibly take anything written by Dael seriously.  A man must be living under a rock to not know the nature of Dael, which causes the Mali’ame to question all of the information this “Siol” has gathered, since he seems to be a man of ignorance and “not with the times.” 

“At least I’m dead,” he mumbled carelessly as he went on with his self-exile. 

Say sike right now 

Never ending darkness surrounds the sleeping child, but its mother comforts it within the blinding void. It knows the darkness is temporary, and it knows the darkness will pass. When the sun shines through the brisk, morning air, and when its eyelids flutter open upon feeling the light’s calming heat, the darkness will pass, and all will be right.

But sometimes, the darkness does not pass so quickly, and sometimes, everything is wrong.

He wakes up with a start, eyes wide open, darting from left to right. His breathing is calm, but his heart is in turmoil. Faster and faster it beats, producing a slick, glistening shine of sweat on his brow. He opens his eyes, and he gulps as he listens to the rhythm of his pulse echoing within his head. He opens his eyes. 

He can’t open his eyes. No, they are open. He feels his eyelids spread apart as he blinks and looks about what should be his room. He feels the lids shut and open as his tongue grows dry within his open maw. It seems the sensation of sight has vanished from the realm of possibility. His heart pounds harder; why can’t he see?

# Within the void in front of him, nothing seems right. Alone, drifting within the darkness, it’s as if the lack of light has manifested into its own state of existence. No longer is it simply the lack of the sun or a light-bulb, but it is an ocean of liquid that surrounds him and seeks to drift him further and further away from the realm of normality that he so desperately found himself accustomed to. This liquid of pure darkness covers him as if he were floating against a pool of water, allowing nothing but the buoyancy of the air filling his lungs keeping him from sinking further downwards. His mind begins to calm, and he almost finds himself at peace.

Thud, thud, thud, thud.

His heart breaks the serenity, reminding him that this is wrong.

Thud thud thud thud.

The sound of his heart fills his head, drowning out all his thoughts.

THUD THUD THUD THUD.

He feels his pulse rattle his brain like thunder. The veins against his temples continuously press against his flesh, bulging out so violently he feels they may burst at any second. Nothing is right about this, he realizes. His eyes are open, yet he is blind? He was in his bed just moments ago, now he feels as if he is lost at sea. He was not alone in his bed either. Where is his partner?

He flails his limbs, but they do not move. His muscles contract, his brain is sending the appropriate signals to force them into motion, but they are frozen stiff. His breathing grows sporadic, and he is unable to return to the peaceful grace he once found himself in. His hair drips with sweat, matted with his physical fear as a foreign sound penetrates the entrance to his ears. 

Sobbing, someone is sobbing. A girl. His wife. He shakes his head, looking frantically for her in this sea of sightless darkness. There is no one but he, and he is alone. Still, she sobs relentlessly, and he can hear her voice grow manic, her vocal cords surely ready to tear and drive her hoarse at any moment. 

“You did this to yourself,” a voice echoes in the darkness. “You did this to yourself. You were digging your own grave, you knew you were. Now you must lay in it.” 

That is not the woman, no. This voice belongs to him. It does not echo from the ocean, it echoes inside his mind.

“You know what you did. You’re sick. You’re vile. No one should love you. No one should be near you. You only deserve yourself and the demons inside your mind. You only deserve their comfort, and their comfort is all you should receive.”

“I’m sorry,” he cries. “I’m so sorry. It's never going to happen again while I still live and breath!” His breathing grows rampant inside his chest, his heart threatening to break through his ribcage and claw out of his body in sheer disgust of the man it is forced to live within.

“No. It’s too late for that. You have done this to yourself, and you will drown in the depression you have cast yourself in.” 

He tries to respond, but as soon as any attempt is made, a cold, heavy sensation presses against his chest. It pushes down on him. Roughly. He can feel an impression set against his skin, his ribs dipping inward as if his chest and organs were collapsing within himself, falling into whatever deep, dark pit was forming at the presence of this weight. 

Suddenly, he feels himself sinking into the dark liquid, which now has become a dense, tar-like sludge. He opens his mouth to cry out, but the darkness only begins to pour into his open maw. His breathing is halted, and he begins choking frantically as the unseen force continues to push him down ever further into the muck. 

He begins to feel his legs again, and he kicks his feet without pattern or reason in a desperate attempt to free himself from the ocean’s wrath. He begins to feel his arms again, and he rapidly flails them about in a pitiful effort to swim upwards, but still, he continues to sink downward into hell. The cold, tenacious sludge crawls down his throat, filling his stomach with an unpleasant, quivering sickness as his face grows pale without oxygen. 

His eyes begin to water, and the sludge begins to writhe its way beneath his eyelids, causing an abrupt sensation of pain to ring out against his head. Quickly, he swipes his hands across his face, pulling off the night-mask he so regularly uses to assist himself in falling asleep.

Light pours into his field of vision, revealing his bedroom to be exactly how he left it before falling asleep earlier that morning. He finds himself slumped upwards, breathing roughly as his heart pounds away inside of him. He blinks, looking down at his sweat-dripped form, his buttocks planted firmly against the mattress of his bed, as one could expect. He coughs, a mix of phlegm and mucous being forced out of his throat and mouth, spilling onto the bed’s covers that continued to surround his legs.

He gulps, releasing a breath of abrupt air as he lightly smiles. All a dream, nothing more. He checks his phone.

It reads 9:45 am. One new message: “I took our daughter to her Dr. Appointment, love you lots honey bunny, sleep well, be home later.”

His smile brightens, and he lays back down against his bed. He grows far more calm, his worries being put to rest rather quickly. He takes his night-mask and covers his eyes once more, and he covers his body with his blankets. The darkness consumes him once again, but it’s okay.  # His family will return in the afternoon’s hours, and when his eyelids flutter open upon feeling his wife’s calming embrace, the darkness will pass, and all will be right.

Still, the cold, heavy sensation continues to press itself against his chest. It threatens to consume him, his organs feeling as if they’ll be sucked into the abyssal cavern that could form against its weight. But that’s okay. He’s learned to live with it. It never truly goes away. Sometimes it lessens, sometimes it grows worse, but it’s always there. 

His darkness may be at its peak right now, but someday it will pass, and all will be right.

5 hours ago, drfate786 said:

Fake religion that has no real RP once or ever and is basically copy pasta, because playing catholic priests and pretending to be some “GOD” fearing man is apparently “fun” RP. Kill and blacklist anyone who disagrees!

This take is as hot as curdled milk that’s been sitting out in the Oklahoma sun during a summer’s day. 

It’s real, real bad.

So this is the power of a creative wizard 

Change log:

Removed Tenets entirely. No more tenets, pure chaos all the time.

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