I no longer know what the goal of the site is, I write horror fiction, and love letters to myself.

This site is a tool to facilitate the act of seeing clearly, written by hands that used to hurt myself.

Explanation: I am Damien, I speak to my split personality Amanda. I am two people in love with each other, and I am okay with that now.

I have paranoid schizophrenia, narcissistic personality disorder, bipolar II-manic/depressive- rapid cycling, depression, anxiety, hydrocepholus, narcissistic personality disorder suffering from alcoholism, drug addiction, alcoholic. with OCD and PTSD- was addicted to heroin, meth, crack, alcohol, cocaine, prescription pills.

I am drug addict/alcoholic/dual diagnosis/ex-homeless person.

Characters thus far



Damien de Soto

Rei Clearly


First person

Blog post style

Dark horror fiction

Through dark horror fiction I rake the muck of the lives of street addicts.

Or in plain English this is an epic poem/novel about addiction told about low bottom addicts in horror style.

Just had a kick*** time sitting and talking to people I can now call my friends, and they are real.

Who knew real friends are better than imaginary ones? Sometimes it feels like everyone except me knew. I am so psyched I actually have friends now, and they give a **** about me not just because I am providing them some sort of business deal or exchanging some kind of favor for something they have, they are people I can be open and honest with and they are open and honest with me, and actually ****ing like me. I am so psyched. Every day that goes by the amount of people I am connecting with is growing, and I forget that when I am alone for a couple of days, and send myself ping ponging backwards into a land of pain that is not real anymore. I had a friend of mine tell me recently to move on.

I think that is major. I think a lot of what I have been ranting about on here, all the past resentments, were what was killing me. I think the problem was, I thought I was supposed to beat myself up to heal, and I am finding out through the wisdom of others, now that I am being honest that I am not so different from those around me, and it was my own arrogance that was so fatal, not the decisions that I had made. The fact that I was not willing to accept help was what was killing me, not what I had done in the past.


One response to “Just had a kick*** time sitting and talking to people I can now call my friends, and they are real.”

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