Most Depressing Book Of All Time Novels & Stories

He stops to pick up a crystal book stand and brings it to the table, setting the leather bag on top. I can feel the book’s energy calling to me. It’s darker than the darkest corner of the underworld and greedy like a starving animal. It’s thick, violent, and hopeless. It is full of despair that feels like it wants to drown you in a pit of hot tar. It is passionate and calculated in all the worst ways. Rage and a seething sense of malice swirl around its edges, so palpable, you can practically feel it on the edges of your fingers.

I don't think I can live my life just hanging out in the mansion. I've tried reading in the library and reading was never my thing unless it has something to do with school. I'm not in the mood to swim either, even if the indoor pool has a heater, the weather is just not corresponding to my mood. I've watched all the new movies in the theater room in one day! I tried chatting with the people and they seem to always rush out of the conversation. so after a few attempts to make friends, I decided to just give up. my bedroom and the gym were the only two places that are best for me to spend time without feeling depressed

I placed my other hand over my stomach, feeling the euphoric bliss of our daughter's movements within. 'I read it in a book.' ******** I can breathe. I can finally breathe. So many years of feeling numb. So many years of this aching loneliness crushing my soul into pieces. So many years feeling my heart rot inside me, the blackest of spores creeping, infecting muscle, tissue, flesh, bone. I was decay. Despair. Death. Haunted by so many ghosts, memories dogging my every step, the weight of it all hanging heavy on my shoulders until I no longer knew how to hold up my head and face them all.

“Sitting and reading all day drains you in a different way. It builds up quietly. By the end, your head just feels… heavy.” She gave a small shrug, like she had already gone through it too many times to be surprised by it anymore. She wasn’t wrong. I let out a low groan. “I thought I was supposed to be good at this kind of thing…” We had spent the whole day going through Medina’s books. On the surface, they looked normal—words I could read just fine. But once you tried to make sense of them together, it was like chasing smoke. Nothing stayed still long enough to understand.

Just end the misery in me! Just talk about it, Kabir! I didn't know how to talk and make you stay with me because we were going to end soon. I could feel something in us was breaking and shattering. "Bookworm—" "No, listen to me!" I yelled at him. "I don't know what's happening anymore. My nightmares are becoming frequent, the book I thought will make me happy is tiring me now. Nothing is making me happy anymore. I'm tired of taking those medicines as I'm a sick person. I'm going back to depression. I don't want that and then there is you!" I spat. "I don't want to be physical. Why are you not fucking see it? Why can't you see it?" Tears bubbled in my eyes and I furiously wiped it away. "I'm

"Ten—oh? I mean, t-two. It's two, I guess?" I heard him sighed upon hearing my stupid answers. Seriously! This was definitely brain cracking! This thing was more complicated than answering which came first between an egg and the chicken! I started to release more of my frustration towards the book as I turned its pages carelessly. "Ya!" Hey! he snorted. "What are you? An alien or something? Ten hands, my ass. Why are you so distracted today? That book... does the book really need to suffer? As far as I know, it's your favorite book. Look, you're murdering the pages and—”

He strode over towards me, and yet again, I wasn't able to move away. "I think it's time we talk about why I'm really here," he said suddenly. "Agreed," I said curtly, not wanting to give too much away. "I read your book again. I have some notes," "Oh? You do?" I narrowed my eyes at him. That wasn't what I was expecting. "The ending for one, I didn't like it," "What didn't you like about it?" "The last line in the book was; 'you, me, and never us'. That was just so fúcking depressing,"

" That's called numbness. A state of being completely numb. " " Really? " Essy asked. " Yeah. " " But how is it possible that you know this but I don't? " Stacy questioned. " Well, I read about it in a book and there the Writer explained it in detail. " " Oh wow! So what's the title of the book? " " Depressed: love yourself. " " So it's not romance? " " Yeah, it isn't. It's mostly about a unique siblings relationship. " " Oh. Who wrote the book? "

"It's, really, Tasha. You don't know the pressure it is to know that anything I say tonight will be in some dialogue in a book of yours. I'm trying to say that I could search for any phrase I'm saying tonight and I would find it on g****e, like the speech of a character. That's too much, Tasha. I'm not kidding. I really think too much what writers can do for other people. I've heard many stories of people in depression who were cured by finding help in the books, even those that most people consider a bullshit that should not have been written. You're awesome!” I agreed with him. In one of the worst phases of my life, it was an inconsequential love for Fifty Shades of Grey that took me out o

After staring at the vast beautiful green grass, you find your self laughing at an old joke you remembered alone. They say lone wolves do not get far alone but here you are alone, okay, happy. It seems like a jig saw puzzle suddenly fit into place. Then it hits you, the reality hits you, you are free from depression and anxiety, you don’t want to kill yourself anymore, you want to live, you want to try, literature is one of your best classes. Life is not bad the universe is beautiful; the world is awesome and so are you