Romans & histoires Book On Suffering

- you know, I was like you before, a little girl who hates everything, kept crying for nothing, got punished for every single thing, even if she didn't make any mistakes, that changed me, and made me sick, the hatred grows strongly inside of me, in every single moment I hear someone screaming inside of my head, I guess it's me but, I can't scream, so I decided to keep all of that feeling inside, it might hurt but at least no one will hate me, or that's how I was thinking, the fact is, you are the most hated one in this big world, and if you'll leave it like that you should die, better than keep your suffers eats you inside - what do you know about suffering? - what? - what would you do if yo

The only connection that I had with life and my existence on earth was pain. I felt numb without the pain, felt nothingness, at least the pain made me feel like something, it made me feel a little, like other humans. Without the pain, I was totally detached from reality, totally removed from the realm where normal people lived. He took a copy of the book he had been reading and turned the back page to write something. It was a copy of Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy. A modernist novel that we were currently reading. His copy wasn’t brand new, it had dog pages, had been read over and over again. With some lines underlined.

Her expression dulls a bit, and the twinkle in her eyes becomes unreadble. I feel a bit unnerved by her statement, unsure of what to think or feel. "I think it's safe to say none of the sex in that book is 'just sex.'" "I guess that's true." We sit in a somewhat uncomfortable silence and I don't know what I'm supposed to do. "What were you reading?" She asks. "Some random Sci-Fi novel I found at a garage sale." I hand her the book. The dust jacket wasn't on the book when I picked it up. So it appears plain and uninviting. Just a deep green fabric stretched tight over the boards that bind the book together.

In my opinion, it is the most insensitive, stupidest thing you could ever tell a person to make them feel better about a traumatic event. How does one go through pain and suffering and then find it within themselves to say that it was God’s plan? I may not understand religion in its entirety but if you tell yourself that someone died to save you from damnation and does not want you to suffer, then why would you blame them for your suffering and hardships in life? It is very contradictory, but I digress.

My breath hinged, I suddenly felt like an asthmatic patient. Fuck! What's all this, how are my character's alive. First it was Anna Steve, and now it's a handsome villain who wants to make me suffer. Now I can't help but think if there's anymore character in my book who would want to see me suffer. To be honest I made a lot of characters suffer.

Several beers in, a side of me, shamefully, wondered if she was that way in bed. “I am at such a loss for words, Barry, so sorrowful for what you have endured, so disillusioned by this world of ours with all its false promises, I wish I could just go to sleep tonight and never wake up. Truly, where is there room for hope when the world is so bloated with pain and suffering? But I won’t surrender to despair. I can’t. Why? Because even as your story kills the spirit, even as it saps what sunlight still finds its way in, it also resurrects the will and determination, provides the needed fuel to see the business through. As terrible as your journey to this point has been, its experiences bring s

"It's better than I imagined . You are not actually mentally unstable , you are just scared and turn to have illusions of the people who caused you harm . This is termed as post traumatic stress disorder. It is a disorder that may occur to people who have witnessed or experienced a traumatic event .'' So what are we going to do . '' That would be a tale for another day.Right now i only have one question that is , what did you like doing before all this happened ?'' I loved to read. I remember reading Nancy Drew's stories and they were simply amazing. '' Really i love reading too . Why not give you a book to read and you would come and tell me what happened every day?'' That would be amazing

"And a typo is simply an asset that hasn't been properly audited." The Great Reconciliation The middle of the chapter was a surreal, agonizing descent into the origin of our suffering. The Author didn't wait for us to cross the ink-well; she brought the desk to us. With a single, heavy strike of her palm against the ivory keys, the chasm began to fold inward like a closing book. The black mirror of the ink-well rose up, wrapping around Xander and me until we were no longer standing on iron type-set, but floating in a zero-gravity void of pure text.

Trigger Warning: This chapter contains depictions of ongoing captivity, domestic abuse, trauma, and mentions of past suicidal ideation/self-harm. Reader discretion is advised. It's easy to just give up and die. It's easy to just leave the pain here, to just vanish to feel free. It is such an easy thing to do for people who are completely exhausted by life, like me. I only wish I had just died from blood loss or an infection from the nail I saw. With that, I'll escape all the sufferings.

Chapter 161 Author’s POV Alpha Jax lay on the bed, his face contorted in pain, his body screaming in agony. He had been confined to the sleeping bed for more than three days, and the pain was becoming increasingly unbearable. It felt as if his very existence was a burden, and death seemed like a welcome escape from the torment that ravaged his body. Every breath was a struggle, every movement a stabbing sensation that pierced through his being. His mind was foggy, his thoughts clouded by the suffering that consumed him. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt a moment's peace, a moment without pain.