#tw feelings of hopelessness

[brekitten]

Bruce doesn't dream.

He never has, really - at least, not that he can remember. He never even had nightmares from the night his parents died. Maybe that's why; maybe he just subconsciously trained himself to not dream after that night, in fear of the nightmares that were sure to come. But the point is that he does not dream.

And yet.

The dream always starts out the same, every night, every time he closes his eyes and slips into the embrace of sleep. He's in a pitch-black room, one so dark that he can't see his hands even when he raises them right in front of his face. He knows, somehow, that he can walk for hours without coming into contact with anything - walls, furniture, anything at all to indicate that he was even in a room. Yet he knows that he is, although he's not sure why, as there really is no reason for him to know that.

The dream changes, after a while of walking. He knows that he won't find anything, no matter how far or how long he walks. This place is empty, desolate even. It fills him with dread every time. The change is never consistent, always bringing him to a different place each night.

(Once, it was a dusty old bedroom, one that made his heart ache, although he didn't know why. He had taken notice of the various space-themed decorations, the model rockets and NASA posters and stars on the ceiling. It was clearly a child's bedroom, but it hadn't been used in a long time. Another time, it was a darkened lab, illuminated only by the strange vials of green liquid lined along the many, many shelves. Bruce had wondered, after he had awoken, if it was Lazarus Water, but that felt wrong. It was something else. Something more. It had made him uneasy, and he got the feeling that something terrible had happened there. He didn't get a chance to investigate the gaping hole in the wall before he had been whisked away to another part of the dream.)

This time, he is in a brightly-lit white lab, and he has to blink stars out of his eyes at the abrupt change in lighting and color. He looks around; it seems like a typical lab, but everything is pure white, except for a green stain on the table. He can feel bile rising in his throat at the sight of the cuffs on the table, and though he still doesn't know what the green substance is, he gets the horrible feeling that it's blood. A lot of it.

He uses what little time he has to investigate the lab. There is an abundance of medical supplies, but many look unused, with the exception of the scalpels. The pit in his stomach continues to grow. Why were there so many? He reaches toward a vial of red liquid, wrong wrong wrong this is wrong, when the dream changes again.

Now he's in what is clearly a cell, except even the cells in Arkham aren't this bare. The only thing it contains is a familiar white-haired teenager, who is chained to the floor with cuffs that glow the same green as the vials of Lazarus Water that he's seen before.

Though Bruce has never learned his name, he has been in every dream, the one constant (besides the empty room, of course) in each one. The kid has never spoken, never done more than watch, but Bruce has always gotten the feeling that he was the reason for these strange dreams.

He knows that he should be more worried. If some kind of meta has managed to get inside his head, there's no telling what could happen. But he can't bring himself to be. Something is wrong, and it's not the teenager.

He can't help but think of his own children.

Something feels . . . off this time. The kid isn't looking up, isn't even moving - he seems limp, almost, as he kneels on the ground, weighed down by the chains keeping him there. Green blood - Bruce knows it's blood now, it has to be - drips from his still figure, pooling on the ground underneath him.

Bruce can't move. He desperately wants to, what could he even do? but it's like he's frozen in place. He can only watch as the teenager slowly, agonizingly, looks up at him, his bright green eyes dull and filled with fear and desperation and hope and -

Bruce wakes.

[wiseoldtree]

I don't know how to make it better anymore.

[lonelyandlostintime]

Wasting my life being in pain that’s how it feels

[spieluhrzeit]

local enby who loves reblogging hopepunk posts on tumblr is wondering how much more they can take before they completely crumble, and wonders if they completely destroyed their friendships because of their poor mental health and wonders if college is really worth it and thinks they've ruined everything and their friends aren't talking and logic isn't working they hate me who cares about exams and i want it to stop please make it stop.

local enby realises they should've gotten help before they fucked over all their friends by ghosting them when a project was due. local enby feels catholic levels of guilt. local enby will never know peace again. they won't let themselves know it.

[villainousundertones]

I genuinely think I'm going to be alone forever; like I'm sixteen and I still haven't found anyone. And at this point I'm kind of just tired of trying. It's just that I can see that a friend group like what I've seen in books and movies are real, because my sister has one, and its so close but I'll never be able to have that. I'm sick of romanticizing loneliness, this shit fucking sucks. Maybe if I was different and more normal it could be more realistic but I just don't see it happening with how I am. I've always known there was something wrong with me, but it's only now that I'm starting to realize how different I am. I'm TOO different. I'm an outcast. I'm alone. It's not going to get better.

[lonelyandlostintime]

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again struggling with mental and physical health issues concurrently can make you feel like a complete shell of yourself. I have zero energy and motivation and it leaves me feeling so ungrateful and guilty for wasting my life.

[takanuvas-wife]

VENT //Depression and Hopelessness

I feel lonely, like a burden on the world. So many things I would like to do with my life, but feel too old to bother trying to learn the skills I want to have.

My anxieties are heavy and my sadness is a deep pit of abyss.

Art feels difficult to express, writing feels burdensome. I have no flow, constantly stuck like a scratched disc. My mind overflows with the past, present, and future.

Processing my neglect and how it has all shaped me into how I am today. I know there is light at the end of the tunnel, but why does it feel like that thought is not comforting anymore?

Maybe one day I will be happy, but why do I feel like it won't make a difference if I am anyway? I'm not the person my younger self was hoping for. I'm not a scientist, I am not working with animals, I don't have that dream life, and I'm not happy. I feel like I have to catch up to everyone's success. I don't want to be left behind... I'm scared to be left behind, scared to be alone... I don't want to be alone.

[lonelyandlostintime]

Sometimes it feels like the harder i try to succeed the harder the universe kicks me down

[hailstormlovesbsd]

I feel so empty. I feel nothing. My mind is in a complete haze. I’m tired now. How do I stop this feeling- well lack of anyway. I’m not sure why. I think in part because I happen to be watching some people on YouTube talking about horrible things online (like the minion filter thing). But the feeling started before that so it’s not exactly the cause. Regardless of the cause, I can’t stand this feeling. How do I feel okay?