Daniel Freeman
Bio
A friend accidentally got me into writing. Now I can't stop!
Stories (41)
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Depressive Snares
If you have any semblance of humanity within, you have likely grown to realize that the real world is much harsher than you imagined in your barricaded childhood. However, it is not only the outside world that stops caring about you. Most people stop caring about themselves, as well, once they reach puberty. How does that make sense? Why would someone intentionally sabotage themselves? I’ve been intrigued by the logic behind depression and its self deprecating effects for nearly two years. Until recently, I considered myself a logical thinker, and depression was my next project to discover the reasoning for its existence. After all, everything has a logical explanation behind it, right? What I have found is that the answer is that it’s not logical. But before I elaborate, I should clarify that “illogical” does not mean “stupid.” When I describe self-sabotaging thoughts and actions as illogical or irrational, that is NOT an insult to the person thinking or performing them. It is not how they behave in a homeostatic state, hence why depression is classified as a mental illness. You don’t insult someone for being ill. These unfortunate souls have fallen into a trap that coerces them to let themselves bleed until they’re almost dead before even realizing they’ve been caught.
By Daniel Freeman 4 years ago in Psyche
Midnight Guardian
I can’t get rid of that pest. Face down, its light cuts through the room and pierces my eyes. Face up, it illuminates my ceiling to imitate the sun. But no matter where it’s facing, its buzz shakes me awake before I can fully close my eyes. Then I have to get up and drift over to see what triggered it before silencing it again. That damned screech keeps me too hot to rest and leaves me in the morning with frozen saliva hanging from my chin. I have to let it tire out about 87 percent every night before I can finally put it down, and then the next day it all repeats like the Earth’s rotation. And I can’t get rid of it. It’s too convenient to keep anywhere other than in my room.
By Daniel Freeman 4 years ago in Fiction
Morbus
Morbus was still thirsty. It seemed like the more it drank, the thirstier it became. It never gets tired of ensnaring prey and seeing its precious delicacy ooze out. It must have hit a growth spurt, because it’s happened a lot more often recently. And it’s my job to harvest more with that wicked, silver fang. Every. Damn. Time.
By Daniel Freeman 4 years ago in Fiction
