Tag Archives: hope

Lucifer’s Own Pandora’s Box

She has a personal, destructive beauty, one not many can fall for. He is the only one to see it. With her red eyes and ebony wings, Aria holds Lucifer’s heart. Her love for the devil is only outweighed by the corruption inside her.

Lucifer ignores it, for a time. He understands she wants the same sensation he felt when he fell from grace. Only until she became his personal Pandora’s box did he take notice. Heartbreak, disease, famine, death. Aria has control of them, and much worse.

“My love, you must stop this,” Lucifer tenderly whispers, grasping her by the biceps with pleading eyes.

Aria growls and shoves him away. “You don’t tell me what to do!” Eyes like rubies in sunlight, her anger stems from his need to control her.

girl and box
“Her love for the devil is only outweighed by the corruption inside her.” Photo from: http://pre14.deviantart.net/152d/th/pre/i/2013/063/d/f/pandora_s_box_by_sirocco_rc-d5wybx3.jpg

Lucifer knows he can fix her, but only by using the hope lying at the bottom of the box. He grabs her arm with a jerk and takes her to her fallen meadow. Lucifer holds Aria close until their skin seems like it will fuse together.

He speaks the only words that will free Aria. “I free you from my hold and the hold of God.”

Aria is left limp in his embrace, eyes fluttered shut. All that is left of her wings is a handful of feathers at his feet. A blush returns to her cheeks, and her slate-colored nails are replaced with clean, uncolored ones. Aria’s hair turns to a light chestnut as Lucifer holds her in his lap. She is mortal, human. He strokes her cheek as her eyes open, revealing two eyes of sea green. The only words to have broken the devil were her first mortal words of freedom.

“Do I know you?”

A glimpse inside depression

Depression hurts, Cymbalta can help.

Maybe it can, but this isn’t an ad for a common depression medication.

I’ve struggled with depression and anxiety since I was in 8th grade. I hid it for years – the self-harm, the suicide attempts, the overwhelming hopelessness. I was diagnosed junior year of high school with depression and bipolar disorder, after one last, too-close suicide attempt.

My counselor found out via an anonymous tip and proceeded to take every last measure of making my life a living Hell. I won’t go too much into this, but to make it short – I spent an entire day in school at the guidance office, crying to my dad about how I didn’t want to make it so hard on him.

If you’ve met me, I’m a pretty normal, happy gal. But once you take a closer look, you’ll find out I’m nothing like who I portray myself to be.

I walk around campus, down hallways and stairwells, and think that everyone’s looking at me – judging me. I try my hardest to get from one place to another as quickly as possible.

“Normal” daily chores and tasks are harder for me. I struggle to get things done. I tell myself that everything is going to be alright, and I can get through it. Homework stresses me out. I get so anxious over little things that don’t matter, and try to do my best in everything I can. But I still procrastinate, I put off every single thing until the last minute, unless I know it will take me more than one all-nighter to do it.

Depression can follow you like a dark cloud Photo from dezzandcarol
Depression can follow you like a dark cloud
Photo from dezzandcarol

I find it hard to find basic meaning in everything I do. I ask myself “Why?” “Why am I doing this?”. I question myself, even things that I am supposed to enjoy doing – I don’t. Everything has become a load on my back, and I thought college would be better. College is supposed to be fun, right? But how am I supposed to “Get Involved”, if I have too much homework and too much anxiety?

I have to keep telling myself it will get better. I have so much in life to be thankful for, and so much to look forward to.

If you’re like me, don’t give up. Keep your chin up, and your head high. Take it one day at a time, and you might just turn out alright.

 

 

The Death of Innocence

Voices raise

Penetrating the thin walls

Tears fall on dirt crusted carpets

The breaking of dishes

Reverberations of skin striking skin

The death of innocence

broken bottles
“The slamming of the bedroom door. The stench of alcohol and body odor.”

 

Desperation to escape

To blot out the heart wrenching echoes

Slipping into the closet

Backing to the farthest corner

Postcards of far off places

Blue waters

White sand

Paradise taped on peeling walls

 

The want

The hope

For better things

The need to believe in something more

Numbing of pain by the desire of peace

 

The slamming of the bedroom door

The stench of alcohol and body odor

The mirage fades

Reality grabs hold of tender skin

Leaving broken dreams in paradise’s wake