/lit/ - Literature

>>11580697
"There is a sense of futility in one's actions at times. I mean, who the hell is going to buy some lame Chinese Cartoons and paste them on the wall--the only reason one would do so would be due to a pre-existing affinity for the characters at hand--but even then, such a sentiment would lead me to question the individual's said sanity--though, I mean no disrespect--to be completely frank, I find that my perception of those I am critical of are quite often very accurate reflections of myself, of whom I mostly shy away from. Yes yes, that's it--I'm a petty, pitiful, pathetic little man with unsuccessful facial hair, and I will sit on this computer chair of mine until the fats on my body accumulate and result in a pudgy mess reminiscent of a homeless man's shit on the middle of a walk-path in Paris. With the addition of a couple of tall black men selling necklaces to perplexed tourists, the image is perfect!"
...was the last thing that man typed on notepad++, before he promptly died of a cardiovascular-related issue--most likely a result of his complete lack of activity and disgusting obsession with his foreign cartoons, but I couldn't care less for such a man. What I did care for however was the clean up--oh how woefully rank his room was, what with the scrunched tissue wads that piled up in his room's every corner, the singular glow of his pathetic little laptop, and the estranged portrait of a young woman at the edge of his desk--I could only make through the dried up residue the face of what I describe to be an angel, posed with a young man that just vaguely resembled the lump of meat I was subject to--I had every reason to believe the man in that picture was a completely different person.
'What a bother this all is,' I had muttered to myself, heaving his body with the assistance of another worker outside of the apartment. It was around dusk at that time, and I made momentarily glances at the dull blue sky as we made our way down the stairs, imposed on that endless void the image of dark stains that a lonely man's body had left behind on the floor. Upon my estimation, he had been dead there for 2 weeks--how I pitied him, that he had no one to even notice his own death.
Nevertheless, it was a thought I filed aside--my work here was done, and I would swiftly return home in the arms of a loving wife and two adorable twin daughters--I suggested that we watch through the next two episodes of K-On!, as to appease the children--however, the persistent wife of mine begged that we go through the fantastical stories of 'Spirited Away' for the third time--I couldn't blame her though, I loved the film as much as I loved her.

>>11113402
I can't bring it within myself to truthfully open up to anyone.
WheneverI begin saying something, I always hold myself back, in fear of some vague sense of rejection. This behaviour will not benefit in my personal development, but I can't help but to fall back into this old habit.

A few nights ago, I spontaneously called a long-time friend of mine - I started to ramble and monologue about my own thoughts and issues, to which she suprisingly sat and listened to with compassion.
I had doubts that gnawed away at me - doubts that she had managed to help me clear out. On that night, after that call, I cried for the first time in 5 years.

Despite that, there were still many things I held back. It is 1:50 am currently, I should be sleeping to prepare for school tomorrow, but I continue to stay awake in the hopes that I will never have to wake up to the misery of tomorrow.
I've closed myself in too much, I fear what my peers will think of me when I am laid bare. And if I call out from the bottom of my heart, only for no one to come, what then?
That might be my fear.

Oh dear.