Tunde Adebimpe Quotes

If you're desperate enough for attention, any attention will make you feel better.

I hold my face in my two hands. No, I am not crying. I hold my face in my two hands to keep the loneliness warm - two hands protecting, two hands nourishing, two hands preventing my soul from leaving me in anger.

I really can't stand not to be loved. I really can't. If I walk into a room and feel there are people who don't really like me, I have to leave.

I still need the camera because it is the only reason anyone is talking to me.

My entire soul is a cry, and all my work is a commentary on that cry.

I was so full of joy, the happiest kid. Things changed. I don't want to talk about it. I needed attention. I was pathologically shy. I'd climb the highest tree or try to ski off the highest mountain. I'd get into fights. I wanted contact. I'd hit somebody, just for that.

I felt invisible in my family, and I wanted to be significant like my brothers were significant. I wanted my parents to pay attention, so I went out into the world with that driving me, that grasping, that seeking validation.

To be lonely is to feel unwanted and unloved, and therefor unloveable. Loneliness is a taste of death. No wonder some people who are desperately lonely lose themselves in mental illness or violence to forget the inner pain.

How can I ask anyone to love me when all I do is beg to be left alone?

The problem with heartbreak is that nobody can help you when you're heartbroken. Nobody and nothing. Not the films you watch alone desperately searching for a character who feels the way you do, not the glasses or bottles of whisky you keep by your bed and certainly not Instagram.

It's very hard, feeling that you're no more than a piece of unwanted furniture in this world.

Choking with dry tears and raging, raging, raging at the absolute indifference of nature and the world to the death of love, the death of hope and the death of beauty, I remember sitting on the end of my bed, collecting these pills and capsules together and wondering why, why when I felt I had so much to offer, so much love, such outpourings of love and energy to spend on the world, I was incapable of being offered love, giving it or summoning the energy with which I knew I could transform myself and everything around me.

My latest tendency is to collapse about 11:00 and with the tears flowing from my eyes or the gin rising to their level and leaking over, and tell interested friends or acquaintances that I haven't a friend in the world and likewise care for nobody.

Loneliness sometimes gives me a quantity of creativeness - you're drinking another glass of wine and you're feeling even worse. Art doesn't work without pain; art also exists for compensating pain.

Loneliness is something we [all people] go through. We go through mourning and longing. We make some bad choices sometimes because we're desperate for something, and that's okay. That's part of life.

So I will be on the mountain waiting Cause I am in need of more attention

Some friends don't understand this. They don't understand how desperate I am to have someone say, I love you and I support you just the way you are because you're wonderful just the way you are. They don't understand that I can't remember anyone ever saying that to me. I am so demanding and difficult for my friends because I want to crumble and fall apart before them so that they will love me even though I am no fun, lying in bed, crying all the time, not moving. Depression is all about If you loved me you would.

Writing is the lonely sport of sad sacks.

Actors want to show off and dance in front of you and get your love, because they don't think they're worthy of it in any other way.

Because it doesn't matter anymore, and because I'm so desperately lonely I can't stand it.

When no one loves you, you have to pretend that everyone loves you.

Can you understand? Someone, somewhere, can you understand me a little, love me a little?

Sometimes it seems the harder you try to hold onto something or someone the more it wants to get away. You feel like some kind of criminal for having felt, for having wanted. For having wanted to be wanted. It confuses you because you think that your feelings were wrong and it makes you feel so small because it’s so hard to keep it inside when you let it out and it doesn’t come back. You’re left so alone that you can’t explain.

On a day-to-day basis, you get tired of waiting to be accepted. In show business, someone else has to say that you're good or that you're worth going to see or worth taping a show. There's a lot of pain here. There's a lot of pain inside. I'm a sad, crying-on-the-inside kind of clown.