What is the darker half of your self like...the side no one has seen....describe it to the fullest.

A passenger airplane crashes into the side of a mountain and the survivors are stranded with no way to get off the mountain. Food supplies soon run low and they begin to starve. As each one dies the remaining passengers begin burring the dead in the snow outside. After weeks of starving the survivors bring up the possibility of eating the dead. Straws are drawn and the one who draws the shortest straw is sent out to extract their pound of flesh from the dead. He exits the shelter to find me standing there in an apron over a grill, asking , Who wants medium rare?

How's that?

very nice, the darker side of you is a cannibal. EXCELLENT

No the darker side of me is a realist. I believe in doing what is necessary and or inevitable even if others don't like it.

even better..kill or be killed

How about a dark side that doesnt care if the sun rises or not. That looks at others with contempt and arrogance. That thinks most people should be forcably "fixed" so they can not spread thier stupid genes further along? That thinks you should get to be able to give one good arse-whipping in your life completely free of punishment?



That isnt me of course..I am sweetness and light.

Wait, is that a dark side? I thought that was normal for everyone

Actually, here is something I wrote a while ago about depression that better describes a dark side

The Dark

My world faded to nothingness. Sights, sounds scents and touch vanished into blackness. I begin to awaken, fuzzy, out of focus thoughts creep into my mind. Tiny slivers of broken glass caught in time and space as the window of my mind struggled to repair itself. I take a deep breath. What was that, that strange sensation? Stale, thin air surrounded me. The sound of something scraping on metal, loud and accompanied with an almost rhythmic thump, like a heartbeat slowing and getting weaker with each beat.

I stirred, just my foot but I felt it move and I was suddenly aware that I had a body. I open my eyes. My eyelids feel heavy and gritty, they scratch over my eyes but I can see nothing. Have I always been blind? I feel my thoughts as they begin to focus and I realize that I am lying on the floor. I am on my back and the floor is uncomfortable. How long have I been here? What happened? I try to lift my hand but it doesn't move. I feel heavy, as if my body had become too dense for my muscles to control.

I am so relaxed. I feel like I have just had the best night's sleep of my life. I have felt this before. Yes, now I remember, I had had a test done at the hospital. I remember how good I felt waking up in the recovery room. Have I had another test? I don't remember.

I try to move my hand again and this time it moves but I can only manage to raise it from my side and bring it to rest on my waist. I want to go back to sleep but I am waking up. Does the air around me feels hot, or is it me?

I think I am awake now but why can't I see anything? Something like tiny grains of sand hit my face and I reach up to brush them away but my hand hits something hard and solid. What is that? Have I somehow gotten under my coffee table? I need to get up and turn on a light. I can't see poo!

I lift both hands now. I need to find something to grab to pull myself out from under the table. My elbows move outward, away from my body and thump against the same hard surface on either side. What the hell is this? I try to move, to turn over but my knees hit the same walls. What the vulk is this? I am surrounded with walls. poo! I'm in some kind of a box.

What the hell am I doing in a box? Is this some kind of joke? How did I get in here? Waite! I remember something. Something, no someone sneaking up behind me, covering my mouth and nose with a rag. It was awful, a sickeningly sweet smell and then nothing.

The sand hits my face again and I shiver. The scraping metal, the rhythmic thump. Oh my God! I've been buried alive!

I try to move but the box surrounds me. I writhe and squirm, twisting my body so that my arms can move. I feel the surface of the box. My fingers searching the wooden panels and corners for something, anything that might help me get out.

The air is stale and getting thinner with every breath. My heart is beating faster and my breaths are short but deep. I scream. Let me out! Somebody open this fucking box! Alright, this isn't funny, open this goddamned box! There is no answer.

I struggle again, positioning both hand and both knees so that I can push against the lid. I grit my teeth and push with every ounce of strength in me. Nothing happens, the lid doesn't move. Open this fucking box! The words seem unusually loud inside this confinement. Dear God, somebody help me.

My breaths are getting longer and deeper as I struggle for each breath of the stagnant air. I can almost taste the dust and dirt in this coffin. My heart is pounding in my ears. Sweat trickles down the right side of my forehead and into my eye. It burns. Oh God please, please help me. The words sound so meaningful and heartfelt but weaker than before.

I have to conserve my energy; I have to calm down so that the air will last longer. I try to relax but my whole body is shaking. Every nerve is vibrating. It's getting harder to breath. Am I really going to die here? My mother, my family, will they even know? Will they ever know? There is so much I wanted to do. So many things I wanted to say. Why didn't I say them? Why was it so hard to say I love you? God please help me.

What was that? That sound? I hold my breath and turn my head, turning my ear to the lid of my coffin. Was there a sound? Is my mind tricking me into believing that help is on the way? I can't hold my breath any longer and I let it out, taking another long hard breath and holding it so that I can listen. There it is again! What is it? A shovel, yes a shovel. Someone has found me. I'm in here! Help! I'm still alive, I'm in here. Each word is strained, my voice cracks with the lack of oxygen. My throat hurts, it's so dry. I'm here, I'm here, Help me, I'm here.

The sound of the shovel gets louder and louder. Thank you lord, thank you, you won't regret this. I'll be the best person I can be, you'll see. I hear it hit the lid. Thank you Jesus! A few more hits of the shovel and then I hear the shovel being dragged across the lid. I'm still here, I'm still alive! There is only a whisper now. All the oxygen is gone. My head swirls on the verge of blackness. I head a thump; someone has dropped down on top of me. I can hear them brushing away the dirt with their hands.

Hurry, hurry, I'm here, I'm still alive.

Another thump and I know that someone has jammed a pry bar under the lid.

Thank you God!

The lid creeks, the nails scream out a long, beautiful song and the cold night air floods the inside of the box. My mouth opens wide; my chest heaves forward as the fresh air fills my lungs. The lid of the coffin swings wide and I sit up gasping for air. My head begins to clear.

The shadow of my savior stands close by lighted against the night sky by a single lantern setting on the edge of the hole behind him. I try to speak but my breaths are in great gulps and the words are hard to form. I try again as thoughts of Thank you; Thank God you got here in time, race through my mind. There are so many things I want to say to this guardian angel, this saint who I will never forget his great lifesaving effort in freeing me from this underground death sentence.

I gain enough strength to speak. Thank you, the words exit my lips as I turn to get a better look at the man who has saved my life. I see his figure straighten and he reaches over to the side of the hole for the shovel.

I try to get up but I am too weak. Thank you so much I say again as I turn to face him.

The flat shovel hits me hard in the face.

My world faded to nothingness. Sights, sounds scents and touch vanished into blackness. I begin to awaken, fuzzy, out of focus thoughts creep into my mind. Tiny slivers of broken glass caught in time and space as the window of my mind struggled to repair itself. I take a deep breath. What was that, that strange sensation? Stale, thin air surrounded me. The sound of something scraping on metal, loud and accompanied with an almost rhythmic thump, like a heartbeat slowing and getting weaker with each beat.

That shadowed man was no saint, no angel of mercy. He was my murderer. A killer so intent of enjoying the kill that he had to dig me up. He had to make my death more pleasurable for himself and more painful and drawn out to me.

I lay there on the hard wooden bottom of the box. My nose and mouth pouring blood that runs lightning streaks along my cheeks. I don't bother to wipe the blood away. I don't struggle against the lid of my coffin. My heartbeat is calm. My breath is slow and easy, even as the air grown dank and thin.

There is no one coming. Nobody is going to save me. To struggle only means that death will grasp my heart sooner and crush it like a drunk crushes an empty beer can. The only person who will open this box is my murderer and only so that he can get some perverse pleasure from watching me suffer. My body relaxes and I wait, praying that death will find me soon. Praying that he will come quick and end this nightmare.

Hope is dead

Hope has abandoned me

Pain, suffering and death are all that remain. My three evil companions who urge me to find a way to end my life before my time. I close my eyes and strain for each breath, wishing I could end it myself. Wishing I could hurry death along his path.


The end

I have no dark side.
I am pure darkness.

I can't really describe it though.
If I think of a way I will post it.

The "Dark Side of My Soul" is directly linked to my blood-sugar level and the amount of sleep I've gotten in the previous 48 hours.
Normally I'm a real sweetheart, but keep me awake too long and make me go without my breakfast and morning coffee, and I'll not-only give you a motrin for a gunshot wound, I'll poke my finger around in it and ask "Does that hurt? Does that hurt?"

Thankfully, they've learned to keep me well-fed, here in my unit.

I have come up with a few little things.

1 - I tend to speak to myself.
2 - I tend to answer myself also.
3 - I see and hear things that aren't even there.

So there are some.

as far as that cannibal thing...I get eaten all the time

My darkside would be to take someone I really loathe and to bind then nude to a post,then I would rub my naked body all over them getting them aroused,touching and caressing,licking and sucking,and then when they are begging for release,take a knife ,grab them by the scrotum,smile and watch their eyes as I castrated them.

Then I would slowly push the knife in to their body,in non vital places,making them scream and beg for mercy,all the time just smiling,never saying a word. I would continue this for hours,even days, covering myself in their blood, cutting them,punishing them making them beg for death. and then and only then would i deliver them to satan

Im really turned on right now....simply put....Beautiful and Seductively Evil

i'm a goth.
i am constantly the dark side of a personality.
I AM THE DARK SIDE OF SOULS!

err yeah...
ahem

I guess alot of my darker sides light up once I became a mother. But you know....if someone ever hurt my little baby girl....I am not sure any or all of you combined could "out-dark" me....

Two questions:
Is this a serious question or is it a reference to something I have quite obviously missed?
How bad of a deed are you honestly prepared to be made aware of?

Apologies for ending a sentence in a preposition.

-gulp- I know not to get you pissed Dezi,
although that first part I wouldn't mind, hehehe...

On topic: hmm... does thoughts about death everyday... and seeing horror in someone elses eyes only to see a shady figure ripping him limb from limb slowly and painfully even knowing when he was to die, tearing his very mind apart... count? but then again... I don't really have a darkside I try to contain my thoughts in my head most of the time.

That's a hard question. I have no idea which one of them is actually dark

Have you ever looked at a picture of me? There is some in the picture thread in this forum. Look close and tell me: Am I not the purest darkness walking on two legs?

Ok, serious now... When poeple really cross the lines and do not accept my personal borders and really really hurt me, then I am a walking beast, really. Some might say now: Well yeah, if somebody treats you without respect, the this is your right to be a bitch. And that is right. But the difference is: I am not only a bitch, but a really evil Monster bitch, you know? I go too far sometimes.

If you don't know anything bad about me and you want to keep it that way or if you have even a remotely high opinion of me and you want to keep it, then you probably should not read this:

My 'dark side' is that I like to fight. Physically, not this cowardly interweb bullcrap. I once bragged to a cop friend of mine that I was confident I could cause more damage with my hands than he could with his nightstick. I love the feel of getting hit and I really love seeing the expression on someones face as they realize too late that they are far out of their league. Every now and then you can tell someone is thinking "what the f**k did he hit me with???" and I won't lie, it turns me on.

My most glorious fight? Probably when I was 'jumped' by a group of 'cool kids' just because I was the new guy in school. I'm fairly certain they still have nightmares about the things I did to them.
My worst fight? My anger prevented me from giving my target the proper opportunity to prepare himself, as a result he did not survive. Yes deserved it, yes I enjoyed it.
My most fun fight? A group of my navy friends jumped me for my 24th birthday and I couldn't hit back. I was bruised and sore for a week, it was awesome.

I often have unprovoked fantasies about doing things I won't post to people I deem deserving, but for the most part I can keep those under control and resist actually acting on the urges.

-I have never fought anyone physically smaller than myself unless they had help.
-I have never raised my hand to a girl, it has never even crossed my mind.
-I have never fought anyone after I'd been drinking.
-I am NOT one of those people who enjoy bondage and violent sex. Those people confuse and frighten me.
-I have never been the one to provoke a fight, usually I won't even throw the first punch.
-I have never fought for sheer pleasure, I just happen to take great pleasure in a good fight.
-If something happens to my friends, I don't care about the circumstances, as far as I'm concerned my friends are automatically right and I will protect/defend them accordingly. This has been the setup for most of the fights I've been in.
-I'm not an evil person and I have no plans to rule the world. The voices in my head told me to say that.

Someone once told me, "No matter how big, fast, good you get, there will always be someone bigger, faster and better. And unlike you, he won't mind smashing someone smaller than himself." I truly regret that I never got to meet that mysterious guy, it would have been better than sex, I have no doubt.

Like Woogie I love to fight but I usually lose total control of myself and continue to fight even after it over....basically I go berserk. I have an uncontrollable lust for fighting, blood, violence, and death..

And all hidden in such a handsome package. Scary!

Well, um... I have what i call my 'monster'. What it is, is every violent, psychotic instinct in my mind put into one thing. usually, when I get mad I 'unleash the monster' in a mental senario I create to ease my anger.

But, it gets sick. It does everything short of what i take moral grounds against.(rape, racism, sexism, etc.)

if you've ever read Johnny the Homicidal Maniac, my thoughts are like his actions. only... worse.


I don't really like talking about this. And before anyone says I'm messed up, yes. i am. And i know why.

The worst part of myself is how I would idealistically deal with rivals. I would rather cause permanent damage to them (i.e. reputation, records, etc.) than to gain a better position. It is like Falkenhayn's strategy during Verdun about "bleeding the enemy white." Just like his strategy in Verdun, my strategy has the similar result of failure.

I also view 90% of people as being worthless since the average American appears to be a knuckle-dragging, American Idol-watching, Bible-belting , moron (this list would be longer, but I think it would become too vulgar for this board).

@Land: It's the people you mentioned(well, some of them, anyways) that are the reason I'm a socially submissive person with the dark thoughts that I have.

I can sorta relate to you. Except, rather than settle matters, I always feel like hurting them and making them understand the hard way. But I still have enough self control not to. I usually end up beating the crud out of inanimate objects. i hate that side of me.

It appears we have taken different paths. There was a time where I tried your method by taking out anger on inanimate objects, but I found it to be only a short term fulfillment. The reason I would rather cause harm than settle matters is because I am like you, a socially submissive person, but I am also vindictive, spiteful, and philosophically shallow. However, unlike you, I do not have that self control, unless I think there is even I minor chance that the whole thing can come back and harm me.

Fortunately right now, I do not have to worry about enemies, which means I can focus my energy on my studies and hobbies.

I actually think I'm starting out that path. I lose control more often than I used to. The only thing that still helps me control it is that because of my severe antisocialism, I've never really gotten much excersize. I'm rather week and know quite well I couldn't hold up in a fight.

But I have lost control before. I once flung a chair across a classroom at someone who didn't get the picture of just how much he got to me. He's damn lucky I missed.

I've recently taken to writting. And I've recently found out just how much those six years of hell that I went through at that school had messed me up. Everything I write is dark, depressing, and messed up no matter how well I word it.

Because of that school, I was an 11 year old kid in therapy and was soon placed under suicide watch. 6 years later, I'm better, but the damage has been done. I'm never sending my children to a private school.

picture a being . this man is heartless, Emotionless, colder then ice. he looks at the world with an always condemming eye. he wishes death on most he knows. rage flows like fire in his Veins. in short....a monster. some day's i wonder.....is this the true me?

I'm normally happy unless I'm missing the "Pills". Then I turn green.

i was reading the first post and i don't think i should have posted here.....people HAVE seen the other side of me. and that side of me has got me through some hard times. fun fact: wildfire was based on the monster inside me. what wildfire looks like is how i see the other side of me.


to everyone who post here: anger is a gift. it's like a gun. you just need to aim at the right things.

My dark side? Apathy and insensitivity(sp?). I sometimes think that I could watch someone I completely loathe burn to death without batting an eye...Nix that. I could watch somebody I completely loathe burn to death and toast hotdogs and marshmallows while sipping iced tea over his smoldering corpse without batting an eye. And yes, It scares the hell out of me.

I believe the term is Misanthrophy:

My DARK SIDE believes that Mankind is naturally Evil, and should be contained, if not downright exterminated. As such a person i would (like Agent Smith) describe humanity as a virus, and such entities should and deserve, there exsistance to be ended. I as this person consider all men, and all mens work unatural and hate it. Thus i believe we all desrve the fate that is given to us because we do it to ourselves. I don't trust anyone, not even myself and work tirelessly to evolve past, or become something other than Human. Such bonds of Humanity are Not nescissarily "tainted" Just disgusting and unwantedly §$*!y. (My darkside also sees womankind just as repulsive and hates it equally)

I hope writing turns out therapeutic. I did not goes through six years of hell due to school, but two years of middle school caused my damage. The middle school was public, not private, take that fact for what its worth. I do not think I have really recovered due to my personality of never letting anything go. IMO, the problem is not public school or private school, but rather the morons who make up the schools.

I only had a few semi-violent confrontations, but I managed to not get in trouble since it was obvious that I was not the aggressor, no one got hurt (in all the confrontations I managed to intimidate the other person into not bothering me again due to the fact that I am a big person and have a short temper) and that I could talk my way out of trouble.

I would have responded sooner, but I am lucky to have internet access for a few hours every other day.

Mine... i don't really know how to describe my darkside. My darkside is was once an honorable warrior fighting for everything i held dear. but then when i first began to know anger and rage, this warrior slowly walked off the path and harmed anyone for any slight against my values... no matter how small. but its not the anger or rage about this warrior that scares me. its the sheer determination, vindication, control, and focus that scares me. i may be big, and i may be slow but i know how to fight, not just brawling, but also martial arts and the some of what i know i can do scares me because i can slowly tap into the traits of that warrior and for a short time become that person... and it scares me because i don't wanna be that.

Mine is simply pure rage and anger.

Like Anakin Skywalker when he turns to the Dark-Side in Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith.

I actually love my Dark-Side

I love the feel of Dark Power and RAGE AND EVIL MUHUHAHAHA!!!!

My darkside... hmmm, don't know, I think I don't have one... I'm aways good natured, even while disemboweling the annoyances...