Cuts that Spell

Cuts that Spell from Richard Garrick on Vimeo.

A piece dedicated to those who go through the struggles of depression and find the strength to carry on everyday.

Written and Directed by: Richard Garrick
Choreographed and Performed by: Melissa Faller
Director of Photography and Colorist: Tate Q. Steinberg
Camera Operator and Editor: Brian Kissig
Produced by: Dom Dickson and Lindsay Driscoll
Composer: Austin Berner
Voice: Heather Terranova

I haven’t been doing much besides laying on my bed.

I’ve socialized, but with new people.

Both my friends barely talk to me anymore… because they are in “relationships”.

Depakote and Lithium have been the best maintaining my poker face.

For some reason I’m angry and hostile (very).

I think I’ve always been like that… just that crying isn’t interrupting my rants and bashing items against shit.

I have 4 months of studying left…. I’m going nuts, I just go on breaks to punch the wall and cry silently in the bathroom.

Life is so fucking fun.

I’m 26 now.


And she kicks the chair over.

She breaks my paintings with no remorse.

My clothes she puts them in a bunch and sets them on fire.

Adds some books to the bonfire.

Smiling she watches the flames.

She punches the wooden walls until they break… until her hands bleed.

Licking her blood, her face dripping with it.

Then grabs the lamp and throws it on the floor.

She walks over the broken glass smiling at the cuts on her feet and her injuries which don’t seem to bother her.

And now she comes towards me.

Or was she always within me ?

Wants to rip me open.

Break all my bones until they become dust.

Wants to destroy everything I own, everything I am.

She wants to rip me open from the inside..

Make me disappear.

I can feel her wanting to get out.

Destruction, anger, sadness… trapped inside.

If she is set free that would be the day my sanity is lost and my body destroyed.

I’ll be nothing more than raw anger.

The pressure of bills…

I’m 25 and my parents pay my shit.

Not because I’m rich… but because my conditions haven’t allowed me to get a job.

Social Anxiety and Major Depression disorders don’t mix well with jobs.

I’m fucking tired of it so I’m trying to ask for less and less.

I have no light in my room, just lamps.

There is no light on the bathroom…

We have to change the faucet on the kitchen.

But at the same time I’m so fucking irresponsible and have never cared much for my life… I’m the worse managing money.

At least I’m responsible with the timing… because of my anxiety.

The thing is… I haven’t payed this month’s rent.

I’ve started doing what I can (or think I can ?) to get the situation under control.

But at the same time I have to watch out because I’m so fucking depressed at the moment that I’m having suicidal thoughts again… serious ones.

And I feel that what I’m doing isn’t enough.

I have that list of things to fix and I don’t do anything (mainly because of the no  money part, and my housemate does shit)

My mom talks to me as if I’m not doing anything, which am sure is how it looks like but she should know better because it’s me… I started studying again 2 months ago, still fucking adjusting… forever.

Oh, and fuck, the loan I have to pay after I finish studying. Fuck yeah.

If she only knew the fucking first thought in my mind everyday is “Why the fuck haven’t I jumped from a building yet ?” I’d think she’d back off a little, I think.

My housemate, which hasn’t payed either (but has the money), is going to a fucking sunflower field today.

Right now I feel like crying in fetal position while letting someone kick me…

I feel like puking… I need to edit my artwork on the computer then I need to get prints of it and see how cheap I can sell it… and see if anyone wants to actually by it.


Then… I have to get up of the bed for the rest of my life.

Problems with money will probably make me die someday soon…

Tear Me Down

Originally posted on HarsH ReaLiTy:

Tear me down with your passion so that I may know you care. Strike me with your verbs and cause the consonants to fall from my body. Through tears of pain I can see clearly at last. From being broken, I can finally start to heal.

Water me with your compassion so I know I will never be alone. Shelter me with your care and cause the falling terrors to find no home here. Through the constant pelting from above I am reminded that the world is still forever close. From your comfort I can finally catch my breath.

I ask a favor as a last resort. Expecting neither passion or compassion, I strike out at even those that shelter me. I unknowingly cause my own pain and welcome the night terrors into my bed each night. Healing can only take place with my last breath… a breath soon to…

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That numbness…

After an episode of about 2:30 hours.

All my anger reflecting in my body’s muscles, all my sadness reflecting in my face.

I said the truth to my friend, about my feelings.

The sadness I feel and how I feel she’s distancing herself from me.

She answers nothing.

One by one they leave me… they go farther away.

Alone, alone, alone.

I must get that stuck in my head.

Because it’s imminent and I have to be ready because this time there will not be a “support group”.

This time it’s all me, it’s all my asshole mind and me trying to not jump off a building.

Trying not to put head in the oven, trying to just… give up and stop eating and moving.

Becoming a living ghost.

That numbness that comes after crying and crying.

And a couple of Klonopins, too.

All this mucus in my head making me feel dizzy.

Temporary relief.

Weed time.

I must try to recuperate.

Until my pills let me hold this horrible feeling inside me and it just explodes out of me.