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What is Tragedy?

membru din 2 septembrie 2021

What is Tragedy?

　
　　　　　　　　　　　　ḤẠỤṆṬẸḌ
　　　　　　　“She herself is a haunted house.”
　　　　　　Angela Carter, Ṭḥẹ Ḅḷọọḍỵ C̣ḥạṃḅẹṛ
　　　　　　©Highsnobiety　　Language: ENG.
　
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family did not even try to take their time to understand, they didn’t ask questions – for them,; their young daughter being admitted to a psych ward at thirteen was just fine. It was the right thing to do. The thing is, my parents thought I was schizophrenic, that I was hallucinating half of the
family did not even try to take their time to understand, they didn’t ask questions – for them,
time and almost all my life, seeing people that aren’t there and hearing voices that didn’t exist.; Talking to a whole bunch of nothing. And as far as I remember, they even made me believe it. I stayed there for two weeks, trapped between four walls. Alone and misunderstood.
time and almost all my life, seeing people that aren’t there and hearing voices that didn’t exist.
Medication didn’t help either, because Sophie was still there with me, ever since the first day; I arrived. She should have disappeared, or the medication should have kept her away. Contrary to the other friends I’ve had throughout my life, she supported me a lot in that little period.
Medication didn’t help either, because Sophie was still there with me, ever since the first day
She told me I would get out of there and not end up like her, trapped and completely alone.; Forgotten. A memory. She told me I was perfectly sane. One day, it was a Friday morning, her doubtful words seemed to come true. The one who made sure I would never spend another day
She told me I would get out of there and not end up like her, trapped and completely alone.
in that terrific place was my grandmother. She told my parents I wasn’t sick, she told them; that I was, in fact, far from it, that I was special. My grandmother, without any knowledge of my past interactions, told my parents I was perfectly sane – with a smile that resembled Sophie’s.
in that terrific place was my grandmother. She told my parents I wasn’t sick, she told them
Later that year, I was serving as my father’s company, a psychologist himself, to pay a visit; to one of his patients. I had never met the man, for he never placed foot in our house before, or my father’s office at work, but I easily understood that he was suffering. He was going through
Later that year, I was serving as my father’s company, a psychologist himself, to pay a visit
enormous grief. On our way there, my father told me he had lost his wife to an incurable illness,; and as he went further with the explanation, both he and his wife were aware that her end was near while she was still alive. He just couldn’t accept the idea of not being with her – of losing her
enormous grief. On our way there, my father told me he had lost his wife to an incurable illness,
forever and being forced to live a life where happiness vanished along with his wife’s ceasing; of life. Despite the conversation in which both my father and Patrick – as he introduced himself to me with a smile that seemed rather weak but genuine – were engaged, a woman joined us. They didn’t
forever and being forced to live a life where happiness vanished along with his wife’s ceasing
bother to greet her; they perhaps did not even notice her presence. Patrick was too focused; on being sad, my father was too focused on listening. The woman smiled at me, like relief was imprinted on her lips. It seemed like she was waiting for someone to finally look into her beautiful
bother to greet her; they perhaps did not even notice her presence. Patrick was too focused
emerald eyes. To be seen. The moment she saw me was as if she has been stranded on an; island for years and finally, a ship navigating the sea noticed her. However, she did not dare to interrupt Patrick all the while he was talking, but rather watched him adoringly, as if she worshipped
emerald eyes. To be seen. The moment she saw me was as if she has been stranded on an
him like a God. She radiated love and hope, sympathy and warmth. But she seemed hurt at; the same time by the open wound the man was carrying with himself, refusing the stitches that were brought along the way. She was deeply hurting for him. And with him. The woman asked me,
him like a God. She radiated love and hope, sympathy and warmth. But she seemed hurt at
after making sure the silence had settled, to pass a few words to Patrick. My instinct forced; open my mouth, trying to ask why – why she couldn’t do it herself. In fact, she was standing right there, right next to him, arms almost touching, breaths almost emerging. But worlds far from
after making sure the silence had settled, to pass a few words to Patrick. My instinct forced
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