Melodrama

Well, what is a melodrama? Depends, it has an actually meaning, which is more related to world of cinema, and it has an urban use, which is considered to be synonym of overdramatic (Probably because both words kind look a like).
In modern times, haven't you noticed an epidemic of overreactions because of people's mediocre and just plain stupid reasons to be sad? Reasons to be pseudo depressed, and it just plain sickens me. Everybody has issues, but because a little piece of crap goes wrong, you think it's the end of the whole fucking world you egocentrical prick.
I used the word melodramatic to replace overdramatic, since it looks cooler too hahaah.
Guys, learn what true depression's about and THEN go on saying that your life sucks. Before bitching, find something to bitch about.
Before thinking you've been in the abyss, try going to hell and back.

Psychodrama for a psychopath

A psychodrama is considered where patients through role playing, acting, dramatization or self presentation, complete or continue their actions.
A larga number of scenes using actual memories of the person are acted out, such as unfinished situations, fantasies, dreams, nightmares, etc.
These scenes either approximate actual real life situations or are externalizations of inner mental processes.

A psychopath under psychodrama therapy could be entertaining, why? Let's list some notable characteristics for the common psychopath.

-High intelligence.
-Usually charming and what not.
-Show a high lack of empathy.
-No delusions or irrational thinking.
-A psychopath is NOT somebody psychotic. A psychopath is NOT schizophrenic.
-Mythomania or pathological lying.
-Incapacity for love.
-Egocentrism.
-Promiscuity.
-Failure to follow any life plan.
-Unrealiability.
-Anti-social behavior.
-Lack of remorse and shame.
-Certain misoginistic tendencies in the case of some male psychopaths and in some cases, misanthropic points of view.
-In some cases, narcissistic tendencies.

Considering these characteristics, you have yourself an interesting psychodrama!

An example:

Psychodrama Director: Remember a traumatic memory and let's see what we can do with it.
Psychopath: Ok, how about when I was terribly burnt?
PD: Ok, let's see!
Psychopath: I can't... it never happened.
PD: Ok, let us try a trust excercise. I'm going to fall and you're gonna' grab me!
Psychopath: ...Ok.
*PD falls to the ground*
PD: What happened?
Psychopath: I thought about it and a realized and don't actually care enough, and you falling to the ground doesn't directly affect me, so... it wasn't exactly my responsability, it's yours for having trusted me.
PD: Ok... how about your sex life?
Psychopath: Entertaining. Many woman, though, i'm not gonna' specify, because i'll just lie about it. They're just tools (You know, women).
PD: Why do feel that way?
Psychopath: I actually feel that way about humanity as a whole, but that wasn't what this was about. This was about trust and reliability, in some way, if you come to think about it, and I failed.



It's an exaggeration to prove a point.

So the thing is... knowing now what a psychodrama is and what a psychopath is, how would a psychopath during psychodrama therapy turn out in your opinion? A psychopath who goes through normal therapy usually grows his manipulative abilities.

General Misanthropy

The belief in a supernatural source of evil is not necessary. Men alone are quite capable of every wickedness. Man created evil, not God. Not the devil. Man. We are the only living being capable of evil deeds. We created love and we created HATE. We created EVIL.
Now, it's incredible how people believe in "pure evil" and never in "pure goodness". The opposite of something is a condition of it's existence, is it not? Well, as Nietzsche said: The irrationality of a thing is not an argument against its existence, rather, a condition of it. There can be no good without evil.
Human beings are cruel, irrational, arrogant and in a general way, narcissistic. Do you know where Homo Sapiens Sapiens comes from? It comes from "Man wise wise". We consider ourselfs wise... We consider ourselfs TWICE AS WISE. Arrogant pieces of shit.
Our species' curiosity is about to bring us to our very extinction.
Though you can't blame an entire race for it's stupidity and arrogance. Stupidity works kind of like a plague, it spreads. Let's add the fact that we're all leaded by charismatic sociopaths who control every aspect of our lifes... The assholes who feed us the bullshit that they don't even believe. A belief is not merely an idea the mind possesses. It is an idea that possesses the mind, right? Religion, politics, faith ARRRRGH. It makes me wanna' PUKE. What has religion done for us? Give us blind faith to not descend into lunacy as these sociopaths condemn us to a premature armageddon because of their human curiosity.
Of all the animals, man is the only one that is cruel. He is the only one who inflicts pain for the pleasure of doing it. We are to scum of the world. That annoying little bug which turns out to be syphilis and eats you from the inside out.
Call me a coward, a misanthropist, whatever the fuck you want, but before all that, are you going to say you don't agree with me?
As Aristotle said: Evil brings men together.
Wild animals never kill for sport. Man is the only one to whom the torture and death of his fellow creatures is amusing in itself. We kill for sport, for fun. No animal does that. Only us. THAT is the extent of our evil. We enslave other species for our amusement and call them "pets".
We may be simple, mediocre beings, but the evil we've done is immortal. Our evil shall live on for as long as this planet remains in orbit, as it is living proof of the true existence of pure evil.
Anything else? Oh yeah. REVENGE. VENGEANCE. Another unique trait of mankind. Vengeance is the only thing that prevents most people from descending into lunacy.

Before the Law - Franz Kafka

Before the law stands a doorkeeper. To this doorkeeper there comes a man from the country and prays for admittance to the Law. But the doorkeeper says that he cannot grant admittance at the moment. The man thinks it over and asks if he will be allowed in later. "It is possible," says the doorkeeper, "but not at the moment." Since the gate stands open as usual, and the doorkeeper steps to one side, the man stoops to peer through the gateway into the interior. Observing that, the doorkeeper laughs and says: "If you are so drawn to it, just try to go in despite my veto. But take note: I am powerful. And I am only the least of the doorkeepers. From hall to hall there is one doorkeeper after another, each more powerful than the last. The third doorkeeper is already so terrible that even I cannot bear to look at him". These are difficulties the man from the country has not expected; the Law, he thinks, should surely be accessible at all times and to everyone, but as he now takes a closer look at the doorkeeper in his fur coat, with his big sharp nose and long thin, black Tartar beard, he decides that it is better to wait until he gets permission to enter. The doorkeeper gives him a stool and lets him sit down at one side of the door. There he sits for days and years. He makes many attempts to be admitted, and wearies the doorkeeper by his importunity. The doorkeeper frequently has little interviews with him, asking him questions about his home and many other things, but the questions are put indifferently, as great lords put them, and always finish with the statement that he cannot be let in yet. The man, who has furnished himself with many things for his journey, sacrifices all he has, however valuable to the doorkeeper. The doorkeeper accepts everything, but always with the remark: "I am only taking it to keep you from thinking you have omitted anything". During these many years the man fixes his attention almost continuously on the doorkeeper. He forgets the other doorkeepers, and this first one seems to him the sole obstacle preventing access to the Law. He curses his bad luck, in his early years boldly and loudly; later, as he grows old, he only grumbles to himself. He becomes childish, and since in his yearlong comtemplation of the doorkeeper he has come to know even the fleas in his fur collar, he begs the fleas to help him and to change the doorkeeper's mind. At length his eyesight begins to fail, and he does not know whether the world is darker or whether his eyes are only deceiving him. Yet in his darkness he is now aware of a radiance that streams inextinguishably from the gateway of the Law. Now he has not very long to live. Before he dies, all his experiences in these long years gather themselves in his head to one point, a question he has not yet asked the doorkeeper. He waves him nearer since he can no longer raise his stiffening body. The doorkeeper has to bend low toward him, for the difference in height between them has altered much to the man's disadvantage. "What do you want to know now?" asks the doorkeeper; "you are insatiable". "Everyone strives to reach the Law," says the man, "so how does it happen that for all these many years no one but myself has ever begged for admittance?" The doorkeeper recognizes the man has reached his end, and, to let his failing senses catch the words, roars in his ear: "No one else could ever be admitted here, since this gate was made only for you... and now I am now going to shut it".

I am who I am.

You can say shit about me all you what. It just makes me laugh. I know who I am, my friends know who I am and a lot of people know I may be a lot of shit, but i'm not a goddamn parasitic hater, hell bent on trying to prove a point which only exists in your own mind.
I couldn't care less, but lets just say I have a flare for polemics and public statements. It may seem like I give a fuck about you, but believe me, I don't. I just REALLY like to write, and in some cases love it when people read. It gives a buzz higher than any drug, like when i'm playing live.

The point of all this is basically: I like to live whatever life i've got left. Why don't you live your life instead inventing shit about my life? Let's all live our own lives... but stay the fuck away from me. Haters gonna' hate, and I ain't no hater.

If you've got a problem, talk it out... WITH ME. Or a psychologist.

From the inside... Out

Have you ever felt what being buried alive feels like? How about being buried inside your own mind? Burrowing hopelessly, until you're lost in a labyrinth of dissociation. Trapped running in circles, without distinguishing fantasy from reality, to be able to cope with the pain, the suffering and the memories, that become clearer every passing day.
Have you ever gone to hell and back? Gone to that place where all you can do is bare with the suffering? Did you endure it? Better yet, are you still suffering? Still stuck in eternal damnation? Trapped in boiling water as your skin slowly peels off? Suffering every waking moment until you begin lying to yourself that you're fine? Living in a hall of mirros tht distort your suffering until all that's left is a smile of who could've been?

Smiling, laughing, drinking, hallucinating, slowly descending into paranoia. You become colder, unhappier, but the 'mask' you use to hide your lie of happiness grows stronger and more believable. You become able to cope with the pain because your mind finds a way to repress it, you block it out, but sometimes it gets out, and you quickly descend back into depression, into a manic attacks, into anger fits. You slowly descend back into that weak little chld you know you really are. Fear itself consumes you, but not of the outside world, but of your own dissociative world inside your very own mind.

But that mask we've been talking about... it isn't perfect,. It has cracks, and the cracks let out your true emotions, something you are very afraid of. You can't handle them, you've been hurt, damaged, scarred in the most awful of ways, and you can't take it, you thought closing yourself down would actually stop the pain, instead of repressing it and letting it eat you from the inside out. All you can you is tape this mask shut. This... mask of sanity and happiness while your own demons tear you apart from the inside out.

Have you ever had a tapeworm? Consider this an emotional tapeworm, feeding from your misfortune, your pain. You suffer and it grows. You become weaker and weaker and colder and colder, and be careful, because when your mask finally breaks, you'll be a mediocre unidimmensional shade of what you used to be, swimming around in your misery and hypocrisy, swimming around in your pile of shit, forever alone in your self proclaimed sea of disgrace and mediocrity.

You're your own hell, your own tapeworm, your own mask. You create it, and it's easy tu succumb to it, but it's a hell of a lot harder to fight it. You create your own abyss, and when you look long into an abyss, the abyss looks into you, and it sees who you really are.

Silence

Confused. Delusional. Dissociative. Dead in the pit of lunacy. Lying face down in the mud, drowning my shallow words in the residue of deception.
Nameless. Faceless. The essence of mediocrity and the embodiment of failure. Failure to reason beyond a simple fact. More than a fact, a question.
Motivation. Determination. Confusion. What is my use? The point of my existence? To burn in symbolic flames that which has damaged my being? That which has cursed me with the loss of my innocence? Or that which has deprived me of happiness or the possibility to be happy? Vengeance is the point of my existence? Oh right, we don't exist for a reason, we just do.

I wasn't a child for long, though I haven't become a man... So where do I stand? I'm a unidimmensional shade of what I should've become.
Back to nameless and faceless.
What keeps me here? What prevents me from riding down on Charon's Fery? What draws me so much to this world? What draws me so much to the human race?
Odd. A misanthropic perfectionist with an exquisite taste with the humanly flawed. How... human.

So many questions for my young, naive, mind. So many questions that will go answered until after the day I die. Alone. Alone because, deep down, I know i'm alone. We're all alone deep inside. Well, most of us.
Forever alone in the pit of lunacy, I shall eventually find comfort in the echoe of my silent cries for help. Forever unheard, forever unanswered. They just fade way into black. They just fade away... into the silence.

Sometimes the day just...

A day in which one could say... Well, sometimes there are no words. No clever quotes to neatly sum up what's happened that day... sometimes the day... just... ends.
When that happens, you feel it, you repress it, when you sleep, you feel you leave that one day behind you.
But you don't. That ONE day goes on to haunt you for the rest of your life. But that day is in the past, is it not?
A new day, a new hope, right?
Except... the day never ends. The day goes on for days, weeks, months, years, decades. It goes on like a cheap single camera movie in your head, over and over again.
Some say a memory can do much more harm than a germ. Some memories can just wipe you clean and lead you down the path of insanity, into the pit of madness. Good luck getting out.

All because of a day that never really ended.

I've Got a Pain In My Sawdust

A little bisque doll and a little rag doll. And a dolly imported from Paris, France. They were all sitting one day on the shelf of a little toy store with a doll that could wind up and dance, all whilelooking at you with its deep brown eyes... when all of a sudden, the shopkeeper heard a scream that rang out through the store and this was the plaint of the little bisque doll... that made such an awful uproar... "I've got a pain in my sawdust, that's what's the matter with me..."

They took her away in a hospital van and the whole city was filled with the blues, for everyone thought it was quite an odd thing, and the papers all printed the news... The surgeons looked wise and they all shook their heads and asked her just where she was sick. "I think it's 'appendi-sawdust'!" - she exclaimed - "And won't you please do something quick? I'm in pain. I've got a pain in my sawdust, that's what's the matter with me. Something is wrong with my little inside... I'm just as sick as can be."

Oh, sad was the day for the little bisque doll... For they cut all her stitches away. And then they found the seat of the terrible ache. "'It was a delicate task" - they all said, "For none of the surgeons had ever before performed on a dolly's inside... and much less such a sweet bisque doll". They tried to re-stuff her but didn't know how... And this was her wail as she died:
"I've got a pain in my sawdust, that's what's the matter with me. Something is wrong with my little inside and I'm just as sick as can be. Don't let me faint, someone get me a fan. Someone else run for the medicine man. Everyone hurry as fast as you can because I've got a pain in my sawdust".
Se wailed and wailed, weaker and weaker, until her voice started fading away.

They never forgot the little bisque doll. She had a pain in her sawdust.

I've got a pain in my sawdust.
I've got a pain in my sawdust.
I've got a pain in my sawdust.
I've got a pain in my sawdust.
I've got a pain in my sawdust.
I've got a pain in my sawdust.
I've got a pain in my sawdust.
I've got a pain in my sawdust.
Won't you please make it go away? Won't you pl...

Pandora

Hello, my name is Nicolas. Nicolas Hollow... and this is the day I die. I live in the village of Whitewater, said to have the purest water on earth. So pure, we tend to keep it all to ourselves. So pure that war threats for us used to be something daily. Our little village is... a particular one.
We breed a plant that only grows here. It's called the pandora plant. The odd thing is... nobody ever eats it. The village elders forbid it. They say the plant is pure evil, but we never understood why. We would grow it with specific instructions given to us by the elders and turn it over.
One day an outsider came to us and asked for some water. The elders not only did not give the poor dehydrated man some water, but they banished him from our small village. The man sweared revenge, and called all the villagers he crossed - including me - "servants of our own ignorance". Confused by these words, I went to speak with the elders. Elder Stieg told me that some questions are better left unanswered, for the sake of our sanity. I remained confused as the man clearly knew something that I did not.
My human curiosity led me to ask where they had taken the man, something nobody knew apparently. I continued asking, but nobody knew what had happened with the poor man. Nobody even knew if he was still alive. Still confused, but tired, I went back home with my family and went to sleep. Late that same night, I could clearly see a shadow lurking around. I wen't out to investigate the origin of this shadow and it was the same man from before. He asked me if we had any particular plant that we grew only in our village, because he traced a highly poisonous plant back to our village, which has apparently spread to his village. He later claimed he was dying because of this plant, and he was getting dehydrated faster and faster and I watched as his skin started to peel. I ignored him and went back to sleep. The next morning I found his corpse in front of my house... completely dehydrated and with some odd rashed around his face. The elders quickly appeared with some villagers and took the corpse away, asking me to resume as if I hadn't seen anything, and as I was going back into my house, I found a note on the floor which read: "Do you believe me now?".
After reading that, a particular chill ran down my spine... as if the terror was slowly consuming me.
Later that day, I went to investigate which plant he could've been talking about, and I thought about the Pandora plant and why the elders had forbbiden us from eating it or using it in any way. As I walked through town, I started noticing that many people for some unexplained reason seemed to be sick. From a simple cough to vomiting blood, to odd rashes on their faces. Something was happening. Something dark, which little did I know, would turn into a tragedy... which little did I know, would be the confessor of the wickedness behind our little village.
I went to the river to refresh myself and suddenly noticed that the water was an odd color... it was clear, but a little misty. Like the fog created by dry ice, and I had no idea why. Color aside, I took some back home for my family. I went back home and my beautiful wife was making dinner. I gave her the water and heard a knock and the door and I went to answer. It was a good friend of mine, Gilbert. He told me his daughter just passed away. "Her skin started to peel away, she was in agonizing pain and she took her life. She cut her own throat" he told me in horror. As he told me, I realized that his skin was... odd. Like a rash, but not a rash. I remembered that particular 'rash'. It was the one the outsider's corpse had. I told Gilbert this, and without even a goodbye, he left.
I sat down to eat... worried. We ate and I went outside for some fresh air. As I went outside, I began to notice the villagers showing similar symptoms to that of the Outsider's and Gilbert's. I recalled the legend of the plague, also known as Leprosy. But I had no idea it could spread so fast. And in silent horror, I realized that this all started happening after the outsider died and the water changed its color. Everybody depends on that water, and some outsider appears, we deny him our water and it suddenly changed color and the villagers begin to show symptoms similar to his before his death?
I went back inside to check on my family and I found my children suffering, trying to speak in their state of dehydration and I couldn't find my wife. I looked all over the house... except the bathroom. I went into the bathroom and found her with the same rash, the same dehydrated face and her wrists slit, with a dagger in her right hand. I sat down to begin accepting the fact that my children and I were doomed to the same fate.
I went outside and saw the horror... lepers coiling underneath the trees, dying men in bewildered soliloquys and the elders looking around as the whole village died in agony. I watched in terror as they pointed out the details of the horror. Eternally caught in unbridled suspense.
I went to ask the elders what was happening and why they just watched and all they could say is "You permitted us to deny a man the right to live. You permitted yourselves to fall victim to the plague of vengeance. And you, of all the villagers, fell victim to your own human curiosity". I was to weak to argue with them, and watched as they left, calmly, as if they had planned the whole thing. I watched in horror as my children faded away in sorrow, and cried as I watched the sun set for the very last time. As the sun set forever over us and as I finished writing down these last...