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.
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.
Category: Addict Whinning
Hot air balloon that flies over HELL, below are those who do not even notice, beyond anything that spells their pain and suffering, they cannot see, they are slaves to their sweet misery, they live in resentment, and cannot look up, this is the state in which they are stuck.
In the muck and the mire, they worship fire, which belongs so sweetly, to their own pain, their lack of restraint, so when something flies over, that can save them from themselves, they are not watchful, looking only
My soul burns for you baby, you make me so ****ing happy.
Explanation: This is a journal style entry full of negativity or negative self-talk that I am trying to write out of my head, read with that in mind, do not read if you cannot handle dark horror dramatized fiction.
This is for you baby, you make me insane, you live in my brain, oh voice of disdain, making fun of voice of complain, you are mean, but succeed in drain, drain, drain, all pain from me, so I guess I can thank ya, right? Yeah, right…
My hands hurt, my head hurt, and my brain hurts, so I have spent the entire day in bed feeling sorry for myself ansd watching television, and just got sick of my relentless whining enough to make jokes about it on the internet, because it makes my own resentment, or the voice of every person I have dated, shut the **** up, if I do it to myself instead.
That is the explanation for the plot of the story that is my life, talking at myself or to myself to stop the screaming of my brain at myself.
That good enough for you, *****???
Hope so, maybe then I will be able to chill the **** out.
Hahaha, it is kind of funny now though, the relentless pile of verbal trash I hurl at my own face…
I am the rose dancer, I am a be, I am a rose dancer, I aim to be. I am rose dancer I am two bees, I am a rose dancer, I aim to please.
I am an object, I am not. I am resentment, my creator is not, the person writing this story, although their hand types its words. I am realization not to spew hate with words.
I am representation of everything my creator is not, I am self-assertion, realizing there is a god.
I am so very safe, because you are in your place, and I am in mine, paranoia, put in it’s place.
You are in my mind all the time.
I need to meditate on something else, but I do this instead, because I like to make sure I do things all the way, so I am stepping on my self- ass er tion.
I am self-assertion, reality desertion, I am dying because I have to in my owner, this is illustration, to show my owner, that I am bad, even though sometimes my owner is glad to have me… because my owner is insane.
I am. I am. I am.
Look at me, oh so very free, look at me.
You make me happy
You make me sad
You make me angry.
I want you so bad.
I look at you, and I see us, look at you, you make me trust, that I was wrong, the whole **** time, you could be mine, you are so sublime, you are great, and I love you dearly, you are so beautiful, I speak sincerely.
I love you baby, you bring me joy, you are perfect, for you I am
Perpetually in love, you are morning dove.
Oh watermelon mixed drink, I loved you so, why oh why, did you have to go, and be bad for me, and ruin my life, I am so sad, it cuts like knife, in my liver, and makes me sick, but hold you tight still I wish, I could do it, but I can’t, I am an
Alcoholic, with no self-control, everything I touch, just eats my soul, I can be addicted to anything, even digging a hole.
You are everything I do not have, because I have lived of a life of too bad, so sad, goodbye’s, of too high to live, but too sad to try to die. You are everything I never had, becuase I was too mad to put a bottle down, too angry to throw out mixed poison, and now I am stuck in looking back, because for the moment, it is Sunday and I have nothing to do, but think of you.
I am a gasoline fire, made of pained backward reflection, smoke billowing everywhere, anywhere and nowhere, burning embers, burning leaves saved from September, the last time I remember feeling anything other than small and addicted to pain.
She looks like our friend, baby.
Yeah she does, are you done ****ing now?
Yeah, I guess so, at least I have you.
She painted her lips with fruits of red, she got them from the tree of living and dead, she had this idea in her silly pretty head, that she could live forever, if the world would just let her.
She thought that she was able to live on and on and on and on without death, without age, without turn of page
Page me, page me, I am crazy. I am living forever, I am living on and on and on and
Look at me, my lips are pink, you as can be.
I am a rose.
I am so great.
I am so perfect, so lovely, so free.
I cost money, and am a slave of thee.
I exist beneath you, just like you wanted, residing in the idea of down, I am beneath you, honey. I am just where you wanted me, down here.
I am the idea of down.
I am the idea of on the ground, so low, so so
Solo, that could be said too, but always beneath you.
I am the idea of too much trouble, because I am really.
I am begging you to please, bring me to my knees.
Standing is so tiring, I am so sick of bitter firing, it makes me very sick, consumed by my own tomb, even though I have not done it for many a moon, I am transfixed with the past, with drugs that didn’t last, they keep my eyes on sky, under which I did not die.
In my heart and sole, I am dead, because I threw those shoes out a long time ago.
I miss you, so much, so much, so much, my heart is full of rust, and dust, oh angel of must, trust, anything else, anything else, enough to stop, writing love poems to heroin, meth, and alcohol.
I am looking at her, but I am also looking in the mirror, and seeing something that is not real, and also seeing how I feel about my own stupid face.
My hate of you is of me, not you.
I live in a cage that is my body, which I think I am in because I am an ***hole, who would be way worse if I had gotten what I wanted, this is not how all people like me feel, this is just how I feel, and if anyone else is going to tell me I am not an ***hole, that I should not say that or something, read anything else I wrote on here.
I am an ***hole.
My best friend, and also ex, left for me a girl in a red dress, and then was my best friend again, mine not hers, Amanda I mean, she was not here for this time, because I was able to be myself, without the supervision of my other self.
Hey, not nice.
I know, but that is the truth. Go with me here, I am telling you things too, that you were not there for.
We would sit together at the bar, watching girls from were we sat, while he sat and made me laugh, and to this very day, I can call him and he knows the next word I will say.
My ex called Rei hates this fool, which I call him in his own words, he was my best friend too, long ago, but now it is not allowed, we both say so, way to toxic was this mix, and he wants a girlfriend, so we can not mix.
I am thinking of her, but I am really thinking of you, and when I romance her, I am thinking of you, and everything I felt because of her, which was really all about you and everything you made me feel.
I love you so, you make everything so easy baby, you make it so okay, to be so crazy, and you will never let me go, no matter how far I run, how long I go without talking to you, you know just where to find me, which is anywhere, anywhere at all.
You know that I am small, though I pretend to be tall. I pretend you don’t have the power to take me down
down down down
On the floor, crawling just like before, where I prefer to be, cradling rocks with my hands, because sharp things are my best friends.
Words about heroes.
I am allergic to cookies, which is really my way of saying I am allergic to feelings.
You have such pretty eyes
Oh, pretty flower.
I like woman’s hands, staring at them makes me happy, so happy that I forget where I am and dream about things that make me feel like I am somewhere else.
She makes cookies, that taste so sweet, she makes cookies, she is neat, she makes cookies, and I am not there, because I am an ***hole.
I am busy, I am outside, I am too busy, not trying to hide, I simply like to be outside, and find things that make me high.
I am about the past. I am about the past. **** it. I am about the past. I am writing this instead of getting high, because I love my family, so instead of getting high I decided to…………………write this insane… whatever you call it.. satirical roast of myself, do you like roast chicken, here is a roast of a chicken, written by a chicken, for a chicken, for me, it’s all for you, self.
I am the omen. I am the omen. I am the omen.
What does that even mean?
I liked how it sounded, rappers do it, why can’t it be done with horror, and actually all letters you write me are severe, because they are severly disturbing to average people.
That is actually very true.
I know that is why I thought of it.
Not everything you think is true.
Name one thing.
I am not a drug addict, I just like heroin and can do it responsibly this time, if I just don’t drink. This is actually something you were thinking today. How do I know, because I was thinking it to.
I am a box that never should have been opened.
I am trying it one time, and never again.
I will never do it two days in a row.
I can just drink one.
I can just have three.
I will start at five.
I will start at 12.
Severly, means harshly, and I think that a lot of us talking to each other, can be considered harsh, which is why I like you.
You like me because you have to, because I am you, or half you, and you are in love with your whole self which is half me.
I think I would be happier like this, completely alone, talking to myself as my partner.
Hey, isn’t that what we are doing now, and doesn’t it ****?
Than what the **** are you talking about???
That I am insane, and don’t know what else to say, and I am trying to make someone laugh, even if it is just you?
So you are talking to yourself on a blank screen, trying to type things that make you feel good about yourself?
Yeah, isn’t that what the book of faces is???
I don’t think anyone on that thing is looking in a mirror talking to their own face as if it is another person?
They aren’t? That is what it looks like to me.
That is because we are insane, and it is not what they are doing, because they are not insane.
I miss you, person who I thought was real, but what I really miss was never real to begin with, the idea of being loved at all, ever, which was never real at all.
You were not real, you were never who I thought you were, because I was never real, not before now, so this is and has always been, all my fault, which doesn’t matter, but I keep thinking it, that I tragically hurt my own self.. I have a problem with the word feelings, I don’t like admitting I have those.
And now this
Please help me, everything that is above me, because I am done with being angry…
And now this
There is a flower, that exists somewhere, in the jungle, that I need to find, because it will cure a disease of my mind.
I don’t know what is, or what it does, just simply that it exists somewhere and that I am looking for it.
I keep thinking about all the lies I told to get things that I didn’t need, and all the times I stole from people to get things I didn’t need. I am not okay with it now. Like even the simplest thing of holding a sign when I could have worked.
Could you really have worked? You spend half your day talking to yourself out loud or crying…
I am serious… I don’t think you have as much to feel guilty about as you think. You were just an addict.
Is that how you feel about you?
No, I hate myself too.
We are the same person, and I tricked you.
I miss a lot of things
Looking at the ground to make sure
I will not trip
I am talking to me.
I am talking to me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
The narrator hates themself.
The narrator needs to calm down.
The narrator hates themself.
Okay I feel better.
But really looking for rocks
Or darts to toss
In the trash, because you know it is my goal to
FOCUS ON EVERYTHING THAT KILLS ME
Stop it man, seriously.
Why? I am done anyway.
You are helping me,
You are me, but you are also not, and you are helping me.
Thank you self.
You are so much better
You glow in a dark world
You are so much more than anything
I could ever be
You seem so happy and care free, thinking about happy things, and living free and givingly, wondering why bad things happen, questioning why me? Why them?
I envy you, the constant debate of free soul floating through life in conversation with self and human being.
You do not understand what lurks beneath, and sometimes I wish I did not either.
You walk on the ground, looking up, not casting eyes down. I
am forever in a swamp.
I cast my heads up, I have two I think, two headed dragon, I think, fire breathing darkness lurker.
I hide in shadows, because I scare you, I say things and you look at me like this, like a creature with multiple heads, are there places for three headed dogs?
I don’t know..,
I know, I am having issues, I think it is just what my brain does.
Having a hard time being alone?
I am too.
Is that why you are talking to yourself on a dark screen?
Isn’t that what you are doing?
Then why am I an ***hole?
Because I hate it when you are right
You hate being right? I love being right.
That is why I am friends with myself.
I hate television. I hate it. I don’t hate movies, I hate television. I like watching a movie and then turning the **** thing off, because I can’t hear anything with it on, which is why I think I have been fighting with Diane, she loves TV. She gets mad at me for talking to myself or talking over the TV or commenting on things she is watching, which is just talking to myself while she is watching, which I don’t realize she is doing, because when I am talking to myself, I am alone in my own world, that happens to overlap with the world because I have a human body, and am not just a drifting mind in space, which I think I am when I am doing this.
That is why I spend all my time in her basement.
Which annoys her, but what am I supposed to do, I have no self control, so I hid down here, where I can’t cause a problem.
I think it is hilarious that every time she leaves, she asks me if I am going to flip the **** out and hallucinate some insane thing and ruin her life, while also simultaneously destroying my own. I am saying this now, because I realized it is actually funny, and not a reason for me to hate her or myself.
Are you afraid of the boogeyman, and will you be okay while I leave?
I am an adult, yes.
What about all the other times?
I am fine with it, my recent discovery that I am completely insane. I am not going to fight it anymore. I have become resigned to it, I guess… I am just going to go with the flow of a river that has long since overtaken me, maybe I can get somewhere with it, intead of fighting against it , and being caught in a continuous treading of water, I dreaded being in to begin with.
I think the thing that has always been at my neck, threatening to strangle the very life out of me, is why am I here to begin with? If my reality is what it is…why didn’t I die long before this happened… what is the point to any of this, and is there any point to me at all, other than the continuous annoyance that my existence is to those who see clearer than I do.
Where the **** do people like me fit into anything??? Or do we at all???
Why would anything allow my continued existence, if it is based on invalid view point, if any one has an answer.. please share, I have no idea what I am even doing at this point.
I need to live alone, the results of this oscillation are dizzying. I am not, nor have I ever been good at the whole living with people thing, it goes well at first and then they realize what I am like and try to HELP, or cure parnoid schizophrenia through polite suggestion of normal adaption strategies and ways to fit in.
I am sorry, I hallucinate, and am never sure how much of my reality is real. I do things that upset and scare people like
singing to myself
talking about innappropriate things because I do not know the difference between appropriate and inapproriate
not knowing the difference between emotional honesty and aggression
talking all the time, under my breath to myself, at myself, with myself
So now I because I live hear, and people couldn’t leave me alone, I get to feel uncomfortable for asking to be left alone, and not being left alone, and snapping.
I am accountable yes, it is my fault for snapping yes, but I just wish I knew when I was going to figure out a way out of this situation so I could do what is best for everyone and get out of here.
saying whatever comes into my head instantly because I no longer have an inner monologue
I need to get out of here, and to a place, by myself, before I lose my mind permanently.
I am sin, I am sin, let me in, let me in, I will knock down your doors, I will eat at your floors, I am corrosive, I am erasing, I am maddening and saddening, I am resigned to be lurking in the minds of the damned man, who sadly
CAN’T STAND ON HIS OWN TWO FEET
Isn’t it neat? Isn’t it fine? The decline of the decaying mind? It i is great, isn’t it?
No. You are wrong, death’s song, playing on and on, and on and on, ryhming madness, soul sadness, see you caught me doing it.
But, this is ****, this is stupid, I don’t want to listen to you anymore.
I am not quite sure if “normal” people worry as much as I do, or even if other addicts or other mentally ill people do, I worry every second I am awake, but I hate sleep because I am afraid of death, I didn’t know that, and just figured it out writing this. That is a lot of why I am doing this, I wanted to know who I even was. I was so caught up in defending myself against the attacks of my exes, I forgot who I even was, or maybe was never anyone to begin with. I have never been alone for longer than a month, always partners in crime with another drinker/user and always co-dependent on that person vice versa, we always existed in a symbiotic way, fueling eachother’s addiction. The worst was with Rei/Justin. The entire relationship centered around drugs, at least for me, I think they hate me as much as they do because of that, because at one point they really loved me, and the more that I think about it, while I emulated love… I never loved them as much as I loved the person I left to be with them, whose name I won’t say online because she asked me not to.
I am still partially in love with her as well, but she is still using, and I am so done, and she is done with me. She was always able to pay for her habits legally, she has her ways, and didn’t like my less conventional ways, so when she would kick me out I would go get high with Rei, and one day we decided to go to Cali together.
All the music I post on this site is thanks to my ex, the one before Rei. I loved her, stil do so much. She is the most beautiful person I ever met in my whole life, and she doesn’t even know it.
Rei was just as self involved as I am, which was great at first, because it made me feel better, but we were always ego sparing, except she was not willing to walk away at first, I am.
I always was, and it drove her nuts.
I miss California a lot, which is pathetic because what I am saying is I miss my lifestyle in California, I have an adrenaline issue, without something causing adrenaline release , I create problems on purpose to cause adrenaline release, another thing Rei/Justin hated and my other ex loved.
We used to throw glass bottles against our doors at our house, just to have something to clean when we were bored, and wanted to get rid of them before anyone saw them. Oh my god, I miss her.
When I say I miss California what I am really saying is I miss living on the streets and not caring about anything, because I am weak and this is hard.
Even if you don’t believe what I believe, the whole God or god thing, what I will say is this.. for me the reason it helps me is because in the Christian tradition the use of the character or real person Jesus, makes it possible for me to meditate on the idea of someone doing the right thing no matter what when faced with adversity, which is the opposite of what I do, and as much as I say I don’t care, that is the source of all my self-hatred the fact that I know what I should do, and do what I want anyway. That is one of the driving forces behind why I am doing any of this, I got tired of justifying being a bad person. I thought it might be simpler to just do the right thing.
I was always arguing with my higher power about if they only knew they would have done it my way, until it hit me that if I believe what I believe, and I do, then they know what to do because the outcomes have been weighed and the right thing produces the most desirable consequences.
That really bugs me out, and made me have a hissy fit about it, about the lack of the point of everything for decades. I figured that one out at 8. I almost died during nuerosurgery at 8, and grapled with the meaning of life from then onward.
I keep telling myself to stop, telling myself enough is enough of this madness, just go to the **** psych ward. Just go to the **** psych ward. Take a hiatus. Go to the **** psych ward. You will feel better. I don’t want to feel better, I want… I don’t even know what I want anymore. If I am honest… which I will be right now, for the first time in awhile. I want to be able to be happy alone, while still drinking and using alone.
I want to be drunk and high, the rest of my life, because I am so uncomfortable with all of this. I hate the fact that other people can hurt me. I don’t want to be able to be touched by anyone, ever again. I want to be ****ed up the rest of my life so I can’t remember that I am able to be hurt by anyone. I liked thinking I was impervious to other people’s actions, being the psychotic narcissist because this is harder. I don’t like doing hard things, **** it.
I hate this, but I am stuck in it right now because I don’t like how it feels to be high anymore, there is no drug or feeling that I want to feel anymore, because they all make me feel like **** now. I don’t want to feel like ****, so I am not doing them anymore, but this feels like **** too.
This ****ing sucks..
I was happy with her, with a different girl, she accepted me, she was the same as I was…. we both had paranoid schizophrenia. I loved her truly and deeply, I was just insanely ****ing stupid, and got pissed one day because she ripped me off…and that obviously matters more than anything right? Stupid…….. I left and went over to Rei’s or whatever she calls herself…….
I left because she offered to get high with me…****ing great reason… to leave someone right? Some else has free ****. I didn’t want to admit this to myself… that it was all about that. We had two dogs. I left my dog and my girlfriend for another person who said they had always loved me, but more importantly offered to help me on a day when my ex had ripped me off. So I slept with someone else because they gave me free ****. So I deserve this… I deserve her leaving me for someone else, because I did the same thing.
That is what made me turn my **** around. I am out. I am disgusted with myself, with my choices, my life and everything I did to myself and those around me. She even offered to take me back, and Rei offered me **** to stay. So I stayed, like a dog, then we ripped off every single one of our friends and left the area and lived on the streets for 4 years until we almost died out there of freezing to death, and I will leave the rest of that one for later.
I am so tired of the whole thing. I am finding peace in being away from all of this, I think it is ironic that a drug named for a misspelling female hero makes people the opposite of heroic. I am such a piece of ****.
I see no end, to your voice, see no end to no choice,
I hear you in my head, over and over,
Saying things you said, that I ignored, shut you out.
I would at the time rather have lived without
Hearing that you hated me, wished me to know with impunity, but now I wonder, and I fear,
Whether you were right and so my dear,
I am so sorry for shutting out
All words you said, because I live in doubt, had I listened, had I changed, would I still be in such pain??
Would we both be better now? If I stopped using then, had put it down, if I had agreed, done what you said, would I still be alone and dead inside
I am right now. I wish I had something not life without.
I was stupid. I was wrong, and now I wish I just had gone
Along with anything you did or said and maybe I would not wish I was dead.
You want all my booze, it’s a handle, take it. I don’t need it, I don’t want it. I don’t need to feel okay, you can have it, it is yours, I am going to vomit, my heart is sore, it’s so important, I am not someone you loved, you just want substances not me, I hate this, I would have quit, I would have done it, but you had a fit. You want my ****, not my heart, don’t even ****ing start, don’t make this anything other than what it is.
I am not high. I am not high. I am just drunk as ***, I am not buying you anything. GO TO ****. I quit. I quit. I quit.
Take everything I own, I am going the **** home. I don’t want to drink anymore anyway.
They won’t help you. I saved you. Let me die alone.
I want to die alone. I am hanging up the phone, go be sober and clean. I am too ****ing mean to let myself live. Your soul is saved.
I was talking to a friend of mine today, and I am not sure, how much of the physical pain I am in is even real anymore. I don’t know if I am just pacing, consumed with hallucinations and trying to meditate on something physical. I used to squeeze my hands till they would bleed, physically digging my nails into my own hands, until I dug holes into my skin. I wonder if this is like that. I wonder how much of this is because I am trying to distract myself from the things that make it so hard for me to be normal.
I wish I knew what it felt like to be normal. I am always thinking of running away, running back outside, I hate it out there.. but I have never known anything different. I have always been running to something, but when I get there.. I leave.. I just can’t stay still. I don’t know what it means to stay still. The idea of still terrifies me.
I wish I could stay still. People like still. They don’t like this, they want to help this, but I am not sure they can. I am not sure about anything. I am just hoping that something will change this time. I am hoping I can find peace somewhere and not hate it. I am so tired of hating happiness. I am so tired of searching for something, finding it and then not wanting it.
I want to want something, but I have no idea what that even means. I am so tired. I am so sick of this. I just want something to work this time, so I can finally be okay with idea of things being okay, I am so tired of ruining my life.
I don’t want the drugs or the booze anymore, and I don’t have any other way of ruining my life, which scares me, which is crazy.. I am scared by the possibility that I may be forced to be happy.. like happy is a bad thing.. I know how insane that is, but still I feel that, and it is the strangest thing.
I recognize the insanity of it, and yet, I still feel the desire to ruin my life, even though I don’t want to.
I am so thankful that at least I really don’t have it in me to do any drugs or drink again, I don’t think my body can handle it anymore. I am so tired… and my hands feel like they are on fire, my stomach is rotted away because of drinking.. I am so done.. I am just hoping that I will learn to know peace at night.
I am a dimension of lack of sight, I can’t seeing anything, except clouds and lack of light. I am a continuation of something perpetually forever, and ever going on and on without stopping, an exstension into a future dark because of the perpetuation of a situation which could just stop now, but unfortunately, I have no control over my thoughts, so I keep doing this to myself for a year now, over and over and over.
I don’t see an end to this. I don’t see an end to this, **** it. I am doing this to myself. I am doing it to me. You moved on **** it, why can’t I????
I hate this. I hate this. I hate this. I am so done, but I am not. I am a fraction of what I was before you. WHY DOES IT MATTER THAT WE ARE FRACTALS?????
WHY DO I CARE IF YOU ARE AN ADDICT TOO????
YOU ARE WITH SOMEONE ELSE.
WHY CAN’T I AT THE VERY LEAST GET OVER IT??????
I am overwhelmed by the silence right now, a continuous quiet that is the lack of your voice in my head, I realize this now, that a lot of what I was hearing was you, telling me things over and over that I didn’t need to hear.
You were killing me. I didn’t realize this, that you were on a mission to hurt me, and wanted only to hurt me.
You didn’t want to accept that you were an addict too. I don’t get it. I think I should just stop thinking about you, and move on.. I don’t know why I keep ****ing doing this to myself… it’s been a year man of me fighting with you in my head…
I don’t know why I am trying to prove to myself so hard that you were an addict as well. I know you were, so why can’t I ****ing just move on, and say you didn’t love me, and that is it??? I don’t get it.
You moved on and are with someone else now. Why can’t I? Why do I keep doing this to myself????????
Trigger Warning- Paranoid Schizophrenic quarrel with myself about how I hate myself. May be disturbing.
I have a query, ever so leery, because I know the answer.
I HATE MY SELF.
I speak to me, all the time, a mind in perpetual quarrel with itself, a life on shelf fighting it’s
Contract shunned by me, I am glee, glee,
Quarrel with me, self.
I am clearly on shelf.
Isn’t that shell fish shelled fish
Did you just call me a fish???
Yes, and selfish
I fight with voices in my head, that can be red with passive aggression or read on here.
Daily writing prompt
What’s a secret skill or ability you have or wish you had?
I sometimes wish I had the ability to inflict on people the way I experience empathy, the flashes of visions of what I imagine their life to be whenever they are not around me- a paranoid schizophrenic version of The Green Mile, the mile being green in this analogy because it is green with envy, experienced in me, someone experiencing false envy, because I am not really envious of normal people.
I sometimes wish I had the ability to fly, to get away from all of this, to fly to a place far away from anyone I know, who hurt me so much every day, by not realizing the things I think are so obviously right in front of their face.
I sometimes wish I had the ability to time travel, to go throughout time like a visitor, uncommitted to anyone and everything, dancing through a life that is not mine or anyone else’s that is devoid of human relationships in any way, including any toxic ones.
Most of the time, I wish I could be invisible, so I could leave unnoticed, every time I wish I could do so, without anyone being able to stop me, with some offered explanation of why I should not leave.
In the past, I have wished I could be Magneto, a super villain able to bend matter, to make it not matter.
Right now, I wish I could be Storm. I would love to have the ability to manipulate weather, in a metaphorical way, being able to control my own mental storms, but also physical able to bring about soul cleansing and body cleansing rain.
I am going to try an experiment. I am going to try just giving up control and dealing with fear itself. Go.
Unfortunately I ruined it, so for now I am stuck with this, and I think I am supposed to learn to release control
‘I hate my life sometimes, because I just want some semblance of control over something, not everything, just something. I feel like I have been in a situation, my whole life… where I am fighting to control everything because I control nothing. I get that I am supposed to stop doing this, and I am trying, but it is like being in a rigged chess game, or that is what it feels like.
How am I supposed to be okay with losing, if I know the game is rigged to begin with?
I know this all just addict thinking, resentment based, my life is harder.. that’s why I got high… got drunk… but my life was the reason I got high or drunk…… I am still in the same horrible positions I have been fighting all my life to escape, just lesser versions of them. I don’t get sometimes what the point of all this is, I guess? How am I supposed to trust something that I don’t understand enough to trust?
I guess I want to change the answer of this post,
I wish I could trust in a higher power more every day.
Explanation: I saw a bunch on the work on your page, and you inspired me. I have been struggling over the past couple days with thoughts of suicide. Your work on your site, helped me keep going, thank you for being one of the ones responsible for saving my life, yesterday.
Your BooknVolume https://booknvolume.com/ speaks volumes to me, in the words you cast to this dark screen, in them… kindness reflects off and gives peace,
I see your reaction and see what I lack, when I am drawn to lament and to attack, everything you say on your page,
A medication for my meditations on making self pay over and over to bend over in rage.
Through your help I see misspell enrage.
You are more wise than me, you see.
I can’t see anything clearly.
Thank you for bringing this to light for me.
You have brought me peace, for the second and for that and the light through which beckons
on me a little grace,
I am so glad you helped me
by replacing erase with a picture that
Helps me stop hating my damn face.
and taking me out of this…
The behavior of the deranged strange lunatics of the world may seem unpredictable, to those who do not understand us, but I am trying to show you clearly, so you can see the pathways to death or recovery. I was having a mental break down over the past couple days, and was very close to using again, or other things…… you guys saved me… you, my mother, and the friends I have changed the path that may seem unpredictable, but if looked at the way these images illustrate either goes one way or the other, decline and resigned suffering or towards recovery. Thank you, so much, for changing the trajectory of the path towards my destruction of my self, my life, and everything I was working so hard for. I am eternally grateful to everyone on here for recognizing that my behavior was not the unpredictable behavior of deranged lunatic, but someone in pain. Thank you for changing the trajectory of a path towards demise and turning it around for me.
Trigger warning: This is about drug seeking and effects on my ability to be confident in friendships I have, due to emotional immaturity. Drugs mentioned. Do not read if sensitive to this kind of thing.
For no particular reason, I am very sad right now, so I think about the particles in the universe, I think about pieces of sand, so tiny, and so together, part of a body of sand, and I long to be a particle of sand, that is part of something else, and never alone, but I am always alone now, and I am so sad.
I say no particular reason, but that is a lie, I know exactly the reason why I am alone, I chose this every time I used the phone to call someone to pack away all the feelings I have, everything I want to say with acquisition instead of inquisitive mission to know anyone but those who are on a mission, now I am in a peculiar position. I don’t know how to make friends, and I know I already have them, but I don’t know how to have them, I don’t know what to do next, so I am stuck in the land of anxious guess, addicted to pain, and in a land of washing rain, why can’t it wash away the stains on my damaged brain. I feel like I will always be insane.
In vein. In vain. In vein. In pain. Disdain. No more pain. Please send me soul cleansing rain.
Obviously, what’s in a name right? One word and I chose this one because I don’t need to see if it is clearly right? Because it is clearly and that implies see too. I am there and so is see too.
I am also a metaphor for drugs because that is how it works. I am a quirky illicit jerk.
I am addicted to making myself look strange, putting metaphor for drugs in name about clarity, I am insane.
I am a poke at my own confidence, metaphor about blurry vision that should be obvious.
I am obnoxious, toxic and caustic. I am elated, instated, meditative and caustic. I am annoyed and employed to continue to drone on and on looking out the window.
I know you don’t know me, but I am lonely, and I want to know you, whoever you are, whoever is lonely too.
I am very sad, and want someone just like you. I don’t know who you are, I don’t know why, but you are like me, and we cry with similar cut eyes.
I hope you are okay, I am not. My head is hurting, my hands are hot.
My heart is broken, I am alone, and I hope you hang on, person who is also by unanswered phone. Please don’t be sad, I am sad too.
I don’r want for you anything I feel too.
Can we just pretend for today? Just pretend that we already know each other so you will be okay?
I am lonely too please don’t give up.
I want to meet you. Don’t die before we meet up.
It is an insane release of tension to write dark horror. I don’t care what anyone thinks… I am going to do what I want now. I am an ***.
I am trying to be more honest and am not going to do the whole fake it thing, I am still the same **** with dark thoughts, I think the key is to find outlets for my rage issues and not hurt myself or bite people’s heads off. I think it is a good outlet for repressed aggression and makes it easier for me to not lash out at people around me. I am very passive aggressive and have a lot of repressed rage I channel into writing…
I like to change the meaning of words, to make them all about me, a psychotic narcissist drug addict, who is on a mission to die. I instantly saw in this an inserted I into a word that is about a pretty bird. I think about myself and my dying lifestyle constantly.. I have written my romance with this drug/drink all over the internet in a homage to death..
Think about bird dumb ***
Flat line, new thought.
I am a reborn bird, not a phoenix but a heron. I have been reborn that way, due to the death of my I or eyes that previously only saw in blurry psycho vision inspired by drugs and only drugs.
I am two spirits so narcissistic that there forced by will of a power high than me to share the same body and be born as a bird who can be a heron not addicted to heroic acts of failure. I have one minute left. Bam.
I am the changing mind of Amanda/Damien who is now unified and not fighting itself because it has been gifted with this so it would not destroy itself.
The amount of glass on the ground around me on a daily basis astound me, items on the floor smashed to smithereens, left there because I don’t take my shoes off, and I don’t care about walking on glass without them anyway.
I smash things to pieces, and I wish I could spend more time everyday picking up the pieces than lamenting an existence of fracture, but I cannot bring myself to picking them up without squeezing my hands around them, I don’t know what is wrong with me anymore. I need professional help.
I wish I could make more phone calls to do this, but I threw my phone in the river, in a paranoid psycho delusion that people were listening to my phone calls, even though my phone calls were just to her, and her yelling at me.
I think this is the last I will say about this. I am going to do the things I said above, get professional help and try to move on, sorry for ranting on here..
I can’t even see, I am so exhausted from making myself cry, clawing and scratching, and scrapping, and ripping and tearing at my own eyes, fighting to make it impossible to use them, so I can never see this again, myself through someone else, who ripped me so far away from myself, I don’t even know who I am anymore.
I am a cat who cannot see the cat in the mirror is them. I jump at the mirror, slamming with full impact into the glass, a marriage of breaking, a marriage of crashing, a marriage of skin meet sharp object, so very much like my tragic love affair with things heroic, but not, because they hide in human skin, and only bring death and pain and loss and women who used me like a severing knife, and then turned the knife on me.
I have become her outer monologue manifest in my mind, manifesting in man of festering infected soul. I am so stupid, I am doing this to myself, and I can’t bring myself to stop doing it because that means I am alone, and I don’t know if it is worse to talk to demonic ghosts or be alone.
I say I am never touching you again, and I am being childish, but you don’t want to know what I meant, and it was nothing against you.
I was in love with you, and I know my hands are dirty because they always are, not physically but metaphorically, that is why they are usually cracked and bleeding and prone to infection, aside from old habits done with fire and shot in vain.
You told me you knew how to help me, I told you I didn’t need your help, and you said I was being selfish, so I let you unpack the suitcase of dirty laundry that is my aching bleeding cut, open wound of a soul, and you donated them all to charity and bought me new clothes, I am not going to wear your new clothes, I am a human being with feelings, and bad as I am, I am still a human being with feelings, and if you hated me so much…. I am starting to be glad you are no longer around, because I would rather be lonely the rest of my life, then ever have to fight with someone while high on my own supply with you who contributed nothing but criticism, when I kept trying to get clean and sober.
Here, you would say, giving me some of yours, which I didn’t know you had, when you were going line for line shot for shot with me, on money bought with gambling that no one figures me out.
I am so tired of thinking of you.
It is dark outside and I am looking at the water, and it is cloudy, so there is very little light, so I can look at the water without seeing my **** face. I hate my face. I hate everything about it, enough to cut it off. Which explains a lot of my injuries…
You told me I was crazy, delusional psychopath, trying to remove me from myself, telling me I was a psycho delusion, that I was not real. I was Amanda’s delusion, telling me to go away, that you wanted to speak to her, well sorry, she is not real, I am.
I am not her, she was a front, a silly sing song mocking bird, painted on like a mask you tattoo on your face with a dirty needles, infectious disease of resent a tattoo scar, of a human being.
Do I know serenity? Not yet, I have not met her or it, or seen it, or felt it, I am consumed on and off by lack, a cutting out of my existence that is still so deep it penetrates my whole body with memory of every time I paid for misery and got misery.
I loved your company, Rei.
We loved your company.
Looking for my dog, because the ****ing pigs raided my house, because they do care ever so much, now that we had our friends over and they made tragic mistakes, like Elvis, in a room they were only allowed in so they didn’t use my lawn instead, and who am I kidding it was not my lawn anyway, but my girlfriend’s, the one I actually liked until I realized I was better at ripping off my girlfriend you already heard about.
I am running and partially falling over, because on second thought, I think I did have some left over after all.
I fall flat on my face, and give away my position to my ex, the police and the rest of the house. They cuff me, after I say I am not going to be compliant and return me to my ex who now knows about my secret breakfast. It only takes a half a liter before the cops are back and I am in handcuffs again.
**** that life, so glad to be more normal now.
I am so ugh….. I don’t even know… I embarrass myself constantly, this is so hard. I am constantly anxious, I can’t sleep that much, and then other times I feel like I am on top of the world. I guess this is why I used to sedate myself, because I sound like a lunatic, and it is really freaking embarrassing. I just can’t put this nowhere, so I feel like here is better than out loud, because then at least, I don’t have to hear myself. I just want to know what it feels like to feel normal. I have never felt that way in my whole life. I am so done with all of this, but it is not out of my system, because I am still so **** insecure, it is embarrassing.
I wish I could just shut my brain off sometimes. I can’t even do that when I sleep, and I am nervous because I don’t want to do this to myself ever again, but I don’t know how to feel without this intensity. I don’t feel without the extremes. I wish I could be one of those “let it go” people, but I am not. I am just not, and I can’t keep lying because I know I will just drink or get high if I do that, I see that now… and I ****ing hate how the drugs and booze made me feel at the end. I hate who they made me be, I hate what addiction did to my life. I am trying to move on, but this is so hard, and the longest I have ever been clean and sober since I was 18. I am 35.
17 years. Of this.. on and off.
I am so done. At the very least I have that, never again. I don’t want to drink/get high ever again.
I am in a trance, meditating on a deadly wavelength a chaotic hypnosis focusing on a stroboscopic motion, the slicing fan, tragic entrainment , of my mind transfixed on the woman who danced with me, for money and items.
I am dancing right now, with my own death, because I cannot handle living right now, and I don’t want to die, but I am bleeding out a year after losing you, over and over again, triggered by nothing, by you calling me, you texting me, bothering me, so much that I put all this out here on this site, as if it just happened, that is how it feels, like it just happened, but I have bleeding for a year. I am dying over this, and have been for a year, killing myself, with drugs and alcohol over a person who used me for drugs and alcohol. I am disgusted with myself and with her/him. I am so done with all of this, but keep coming back over and over to it, because they won’t leave me alone.
I just want peace, please everything in the universe, please just give me the strength to move on and find something else.
Warning- I use poetic metaphor to illustrate intense feeling of dual diagnosis addict/alcoholic dealing with manic/depressive symptoms during break-up. I used bleeding out as a metaphor here for pain in recovering from the breakup and it is graphic, if triggered turn back now.
I am lying on a beach, in my head, because it is winter, and bleeding out, of a wound that is not literal, but in my heart, my soul, my mind, bleeding all the time, dying over you, my ray of light. I loved you with every fiber of my very fragile being, and I am admitting that because I finally realize I need to, to stop bleeding out of my soul. I am doing this to save my life, because you cut my soul so deep, I thought I would die, without you, and that can’t be true, but in the moment, I felt it so strongly so deeply, an aching, pounding sickening vomit inducing ache that penetrates everything I am and makes me have to violate everything I have ever believed to be strength to scream on here in pain to save my life, I am so hurt. I need someone to hear me, and this page hears me.
I want so bad, to have what I never had, what I imagined, so vividly it seemed real with you. I was stupid, I am insane, and somehow I made you out to be, everything I wanted, and I don’t know how I convinced myself that is who you are, when you just wanted items and money and confidence from me. I hate myself so much for being so stupid, but writing this makes me realize if nothing else at least I am not you, at least I tried to be kind, and I would never do to you what you did to me. I am healing through the realization that while wounded and crazy sometimes, I don’t want to hurt anyone like you hurt me, so I will keep going and stay clean and sober and hope one day I will find peace.
I am Swiss cheese…..
Except I am not Swiss, and not cheese…
Just a real person… or
Full of metaphysical holes in my
Self or the idea of everything I am.
I dug them myself because she told me she would help me, and I am stupid and gullible and believed her/him when he/she told me she loved me. I don’t know why that gives her/him the right to put holes in me.. okay? I don’t even know what love is, and no one had ever told me they loved me, not like that… so I listened to everything he/she said…. I would have jumped off a….Not really…. I would have done almost anything they asked me to, even if it hurt me, and he/she used that to make me do whatever they wanted on a mission for drugs,
And it was so obvious to everyone except me, even those who hated me, would tell me
You realize you are just her source right?
I was just her source of elation and she was everything to me.
I want to….
I could cry, if I wasn’t so numb because my soul hurts.
Please God, can I find something real, please God, please God,,, I don’t want to be alone…I am so sorry for everything I did.. please don’t…. I don’t want to be alone anymore…
Writing that really helped me. The last part, which means prayer just helped me. Thank you to my higher power, I am not crying anymore, numb. sad. but stopped crying.
I don’t know why, but night time makes me want to cry. The loneliness is so intense it radiates through my whole body, feeling like they cut out a vital organ, which is sad because the only vitality I provided you was not vital at all, but fatal, and I done with being a malady, parody and obscene joke that is just your ticket to free toke, poke, or smoke. I hate you so much because you call me all the time, and I never answer and it has been a year and I still wish I could answer, and you would be who I thought you were, and not the soul sucking drug addict leech that cared more about getting high than going with me to the hospital, so you told me my hand wasn’t that bad and I trusted you and now I am missing half my right thumb and I am right handed.. and it kills me, because I have to see it every time I write… and you knew that.. so stop calling about the type writer..
I feel like crying..
“If it’s not yours then why is it in your wallet?”, he says to me, and I know she got me, she is in the bathroom dying from doing both our shots, even though I told her she couldn’t handle it… she got mad, thinking I was being selfish.. she spent all our cash meant to get out of Houston on drugs… and I am being selfish… because I have a warrant here, for punching a cop while drunk..
I won’t admit to it being yours, because now if they give it back, it is mine, and I am not a snitch, I don’t give **** about going to jail. I ask for my wallet and say it has medication in it, that I am having a panic attack and need my meds. The ****ing cop gives it to me, and I look him in eye, and spit at him, run to the bathroom after grabbing my wallet he drops when I punch him, he doesn’t have a body cam on him.
He tells me I am going to prison. I bash my head in the wall, and tell him his cam isn’t on, ****er forgot to it on.
I throw up from the force of the blow to head, all over my legs.
Three cops show up as back-up.
They cuff me. I struggle, and get a resisting arrest charge as well as slammed into the cop car so hard it dislocates my shoulder.
They don’t care.
I’ll be out of jail in 3 days.
She/he will have this on his conscience forever.
I am standing on a corner waiting for you, and you tell me not to move, because you want to be able to find me, but what you are really saying is you don’t trust me.
Three hours later, I am running around looking for you, asking anyone and everyone where you are and if they have seen you, and hysterically crying, unable to fully run because I am almost choking on how much I love you, and how sorry I am that I wanted any of this at all.
You come up to me, and I ask if you got it, and you tell me you did, and then tell me it’s yours because I moved.. I am sick and about to throw up because I am addicted to heroin, and I am covered in sweat, you say I smell like I have been cheating on you. I start laughing thinking your kidding, and you’re not, you go in the bathroom and use the shit, and tell me to **** myself.
It was my ****ing money. It was my ****. It was my tears cried over you that cost me being sick the whole day. I am so done, but I am not, not yet, but soon.
Rushing through everything, to serve you, the way you wanted it.
I devoted my whole life to you, now I am haunted, by the hole, you burned
In my soul, and mind, in bind, with time, maybe I can put you behind, like the piano we pushed down the street, in the middle of the night, and then the fight we had,
Because you know I am bad?
I wanted it to be fair, but you didn’t care, my **** your ****
Your **** Your ****
Too bad, so sad, push your own piano next time, hunny.
Thus far, I have been a tool of a criminal enterprise: street drug addict supporting through undertaking and engaging in endeavors, ventures, pursuits, activities, operations, exploits, missions, deeds of deceit, acts of impunity, actions of cruelty, moves of strategic acquisition, measures of unkindness, tasks of business with the affairs proceeding to schemes or plans of action, programs of simulated pain, on a campaign or project of life down drain.I am so done now.
I am coming to a place of peace, which I didn’t think I would ever know, and I owe that to everyone on here, and my family and friends around me physically, and the support I have gotten from those who gave me medical and spiritual guidance so far. I am very much caught up most of the time, in the blame shame guilt thing. Spaced that way on purpose, because there is awkwardness there for me. I like to control everything because I am an addict, I mean to say, which I know I don’t have to keep saying, but saying it helps me. It reminds me that I am not just a rotten apple, unlike the others that are all just a metaphor for good or bad human beings, that should not be compared to something that I can throw in the trash, but the comparison is made on purpose, to illustrate how I behaved in active addiction, which I do not miss at all anymore.
I am getting over everything slowly. I am still not over the whole Rei/Justin thing, and it has been a year of this by the way. The revelations on this site, were not happening in real time, they were a dilation of a situation internal to my mind, that was driving me insane, which was happening in real time, and you saw on here, me fighting with hallucinations brought on by pain. I am sorry for the false presentation of this, if it consolation, this was exactly how it was happening my life as well, with me thinking things at this screen, just not admitting none of it was happening in real time, because it was too painful to admit that to myself.
I am trying to learn to forgive myself, that I am not all bad, but it is very hard, because I have always hated myself.
I used to run in the mornings, when I was healthy, not addicted, and freer than I ever knew, before I had severed the ties that bound me to my fellow man. I did not realize this severance was sign of weakness, instead of strength.
I am prone to shouting at the universe, to chaotic crying out, in desperation to leave me alone, so because I actually get what I ask for, I am alone a lot.I asked for it, and the universe delivered, and I have a fit over the delivery, because that makes sense right? A package ordered by a drunk/high lunatic, high on resentment this time, way less fun.
I am learning how much peace I had when I went jogging, not running or escaping, and I am reminded of a time in California where I was trying to escape a um… bad deal..
I was trying to pretend to jog… and realized I had forgotten what that even looks like.. caught up in my chaos, I forgot how to run for fun… so I couldn’t even fake it..
I used to think myself, so free, but now I realize… I was just chained to different things..
I am trying to get back to that a mental fitness of jogging not running.
Either one or ten, no in between, going back and forth minute by minute, based on reflections on pain and suffering or me being selfish or kind, over and over and over and over all day, presented on the internet for the amusement of the viewers of this blog because it makes me feel better and is part of a larger recovery process, and experiment with trying to grow as a person.
The path of the fool traveling in the dark, the tale of the one who twists and turns in light that is stark.
The act of wondering why you hate yourself while glorifying ego.
The walk in the park and shot at a flying bald eagle.
I am offense at everything you say, and the desire to simultaneous desire to defend everything I say.
I am addiction to stop but also to addiction to go.
I am yes, but also I am no.
I am bipolar, I am paranoid. I am insane.
I am addicted addict with no drug, and now thinking brain.
I am ****ed and painful but no longer lying, I am crying, screaming but at least learning and no longer dying.
I am listening, and I have an instant reaction to something you say, and I react and for a second feel okay, I was honest at least, that’s a step right? I am not lying, I am being honest. I am okay with the world and feel like I am doing the right thing.
Then I think about what I said, and the whole world lights on fire, a fire not burning with flame, but with different colors, that I have never seen before, because I have never experienced a world of color before. I have always lived in black and white, never dealing with light of day, with human being, ruler of land of push away. I sit and agonize over things that are tiny and stupid, and then resent myself for doing it, no one does this. No one has to, they are not stupid. I am stupid and think about stupid things.
Then I realize that they know that I do this, and I think I am in some way better than those around me, and that the fact that I do this makes me superior to them, and that if they only knew how specifically hard to be very specifically me it was they would
DRINK USE TOO
I just got this, that this is the process of what I usually do, and that by taking a step back and not hating myself for doing it… helped me. Thank you random stranger in the park that told me this.
Time makes me scream, it makes me dream of things that don’t make sense or cents, that is not true liar, you have made plenty of money in time.
Yeah, but I spent it all on dimes.. I traded it in for dimes at the cash machine.
I am sitting alone in silence, wondering what it is that makes me have random moments of I am going to fall off a cliff, what shifted, what did I miss?
No not that, that is done, and you are
You are no fun.
Neither are you not anymore…
Did I hurt you?
No, you were talking to yourself again.
Sometimes, I get sunburn so bad it is on the inside of my soul.
Consume Hole Whole Soul
End of mission?
Mission to what?
To shut you the **** up.
I used to just consume ****ing other things, and for some reason thought if I drank water sometimes, I would feel okay. I think that is why I was losing pieces of my hands… stupid…
It’s kind of cool though… You don’t need the tips of all of your fingers, to be functional. The right thumb thing was the worst.. I am missing half of it.
I am a moron.
I am such a ****.
I just made a really bad joke, and feel bad about it. I suck at life.
I hate myself, I hate my voice, I sound like a **** when I say anything, condescending **** when I say anything, and can’t do anything normal
Like drink water. I just almost choked on an ice cube… ****.
I drink everything like alcohol still…. doing ****ing shots of water with ice in it. Like it is going to work faster if I drink it in five seconds. What the ****????
I do the same thing with everything, must make everything painful, like just take sips of water when you are thirsty dumb ***
I have been courted all my life, to dance with loaded gun or held knife at my Neck, by myself, on a shelf, which of course is what I think because, baby I ****ing stink, I smell booze, in heart and soul, still drunk but dry, sometimes I know.
I reek of anger, creaking madness, rocking back and forth epic sadness, dark reflection, not staring at mirror, but bashing crashing and dying in epic fear.
I am loaded gun, I am dark resistance, I am tragic, insistence, that though I am dry, I am GOD. I am responsible for divining rod, punishing me, I am insistence on trying to be my own
Soul forsaken, breaking me, tragically, beginning to see how epic my failure is.. or simply that I am an addict who needs a higher power.
I don’t do this, and I won’t, never did, never will, always won’t, always don’t dance for anybody ever or with anybody ever, it is awful, and I hate everything about it. I know this, don’t even doubt it. I have a hard time even watching others dancing because it’s stupid,
I don’t see the point and I know it is supposed to be fun, when you are lucid.
And even when you are not, people love this and get caught
Being silly and being taught
To find joy in this but I can’t
I won’t do it, no point no chance, I hate to ****ing dance
Standing and staring someone in the eye, and doing something weird at them, yeah thanks, I think I would rather die, than do this, because it sounds like it sucks.
Stupid, lame, act of schmucks…
I don’t want anyone touch me
I don’t like bumping into things, I don’t like spinning round and round, I don’t like parties, don’t like moving up and down, I am not good at smiling I am good at frown,
I suck, I know, doesn’t show, but **** you, I don’t want to do it, please leave me alone.
I loved you, any of you who was with me, I thought… but now I don’t know, because it always ends the same
You are insane
THEN GO! I KNOW. I KNOW. I DON’T CARE. I DON’T NEED YOU. NEVER DID NEVER WILL I HAVE MYSELF
All you need is love..
All you need is to shut the **** up.
I need no one, but myself. I need to put the drugs and alcohol on the shelf, that is what I need to do, and I can’t do that with them, I can’t know that I am not going to do this again.
I can’t even be my own friend damn it.
I know, Damien.
I break up with me, every day.
I know, Damien.
I know, Amanda.
I know, me.
I know both of us.
I hate me too.
How the **** am I supposed to like anyone else if I can’t even look in the mirror, I hate everything and everyone because this sucks and it is hard, and you make me nervous because I know everyone is thinking the same damn thing that I think about me
YOU SUCK YOU SUCK YOU SUCK You suck?
That’s what you think?
That’s what we think. They think. I think.
Do you think this is fun for anyone, who the **** would want to be around this? I don’t even want to and I am this…
Then stop doing it.
I named myself See Clearly because that is not what I do, I do not see clearly at all, because my ego it is tall, or it used to be I mean, because I am a liar, a whiner and a wine-r, or not really because I prefer whiskey, or anything that is risky like heroin or meth or how about crack or death? You know things like those, things you stick in mouth or nose, or suck through glass, because I want to die, and that’s not true, what I really aim to do is..
Get the *** away from all of you, because you make me anxious, because you hate me, or maybe I do.. I don’t know… but I feel it when it you look at me please ****ing go. I am telling you go away, **** it! I hate the idea of panic and judgement, I hate you and everything you meant
To say, but didn’t, I can hear you thinking **** it, or maybe that is me? I don’t know the difference…
I guess… it’s me… what makes me anxious is me…
and addiction and lack of control and framed photos of animals in suits..
I sleep in oblivion because obviously sleep must be partially that
Because I can’t remember it and that is oblivion right?
Hmm… being dead or asleep, meaning having no power and receiving pardon or amnesty?
Just realized I called myself my own ex-girlfriend…
I just told people the truth so now I am going to die, I just told people the truth so now I have to STAB OUT BOTH MY EYES
I don’t know why I do this…
Because you love death’s kiss… ****
I don’t though really? Do I?
My heart is pounding really fast… and I feel like I am going to crash into everything around me and I am dying but that is not real and I feel like I want.
Jump into a moving car.
SCAR SCAR SCAR SCAR I am very far away from reality, circling a
Dying human stain…. remove remove remove
remove remove me… from this..
You think this is going to work don’t you?
GO SLOW SLOW SLOW SLOW SLOW
In the darkness of night, no one can really see me, because I am not there at all, I am death’s call, I am the act of stall. I am the toll of the bell of the night, I am the activity of a dying fight, I am the passing of anxiety, I am the feeling dying slowly like everyone else, I am cares cast away on a shelf where they can’t touch me, because I am far away, they can’t touch you dumb*** they don’t know where you are… and aren’t interested in you and you are just trying to write to save you from drinking what is wrong with that?
Extremely disturbing content: Meditation for myself- do not read if triggered by anything for lovers of abstract dark horror, not intended for those triggered by anything.
Trigger Warning: Mentions drug/alcohol abuse to show mental change in writer who is becoming less arrogant and better informed in recovery
Trigger Warning: I lied, this is a hallucination powered by Misery
I am. I was. I am not the same. I do not have the same thoughts. I do not have the same name. I have gone. I have left. I am permanently changed, I have severed all ties, I have cut out my eyes, I am never the same, permanently change, removal of stain. I have changed my stupid name. I am done, un-spun rewind-ed, rebind-ed, reminded, unconfined, un-twined
Mind designed by me, arrogant yes, but not, just addict caught in re-wiring, and desiring new thought, because FIRST THOUGHT WRONG.
I see flat lines, and dead eyes ______________________________
Is she still still there?
SHE has never been ANYWHERE.
Trigger Warning: About sex workers and drug addiction, and feelings of longing for love, but also needing drugs in active addiction of heroin/speed/alcoholic addict physically dependent on substances to remain not physically ill…About selling love for money, and the effect it has on the soul and damaging effect on ability to find real love.
Item Eyes See Itemization of Love, which is not sent from above
Tick- prick- stick-pin prick- Oh, that felt, like-
I will never be loved until I love myself,
But also like I need no one else other than me, because I can buy love with time and money, minutes spent on standing on a corner holding a sign or getting in cars with strangers, or peddling
I will never be loved until I love myself
I will never be loved until I love myself
I hate myself
I hate myself
I hate myself
Stop. The clock will not move forward in a state of
Look back, it is important to remember and forgive not remember. remember. remember. romance the drug. resent. romance the drug. use.
Need to find a middle ground, recognize what you did, admit it and move on.
I hated myself so much, that I created entire realities to justify this hatred, and forgot that those realities created beliefs that attached to very real people, who did very real things for me, like love and give me life. I had and have an excellent family. I was very loved, but my family is not perfect, and neither am I, we have fought a lot and I remember it differently sometimes, because I am guilty, and they say things that make me feel bad about myself because I am guilty not because I am trying to hate them or be bad, or lie, but because I am an addict and lying to myself comes naturally to me, because of flaws with my mind.
STOP MAKING EXCUSES AND ANSWER THE QUESTION
I am, just building back story to explain myself better
BUILDING UP REASONS FOR WHY YOU AREN’T AT FAULT FOR ASSERTIONS THAT HAVE NOTHING TO DO WITH THE QUESTION
Okay, forgot what question was…
What movies or TV series have you watched more than 5 times?
Above list are the movies I am watching with my mother, who is the best, and I love her. I am sorry, mom. You did the best you could with my crazy drug addict, alcoholic paranoid schizophrenic *** and I like watching movies with you, it is the best.
I always think of you today, and want to drink because I used to drink today
Because honestly, I used to ****ing drink everyday, because I am an alcoholic, But that dig at my pride is unnecessary, just trying to be more honest, so no one stabs me in the back… which is funny because I am the master of vicious drunk attack, which is why I have no ****ing friends.
They aren’t dead like yours, they won, they are still having fun doing what I can’t because I came undone, and now my life is devoted to becoming un-spun, so I guess I won? But, sometimes it’s not ****ing fun, and I feel like I am done… I just want to… that’s a lie….
STUPID ***HOLE, what do you want to do die?
No, I want to poke out both of my eyes. Or stab myself in the
Back? Front? Chest?
What like your favorite artist?
What a conquest.
I felt better as an internet serial killer, that was my version of The Punisher,
I live in fear of being happy, because I don’t want anything good because having things you want makes it so you can take them away from me. I don’t even want it to begin with damn it. Take it!!!!!!!!!!!
I’ll show you how much I don’t want it. I will make you all get away from me!
That is why I act the way I do. I am literally a child having a hissy fit, and I realized this today.
I never learned how to deal with things like an adult, so I am going through it now.
Sorry for the continuous explanation, I am explaining it to myself, really.
Finally looking in the mirror.
an abortion. I think that is why you were so easily banished from the story, because now I can’t hear you anymore, and I don’t think you are there anymore, and strangely, it feels better, maybe I am learning something after all, not just being an *** online. You were an inner demon.
Rei was Justin, you were their child or the child she could have had with Diane who’s name was Pat.
Demon slayer, I like the sound of that, because demons bug the **** out of me.
Okay, guess I am alone again.
NO YOU’RE NOT JERK
I knew that? But, I guess I forgot.
Peace. I am okay now, and everything is about me, and I just hit my vape way too hard. Ow… dizzy.
There is an eye in the sky and it is up so high, that I can’t reach it, can’t poke it
Can’t kiss it or stroke it…
Stupid jerk who strokes an eye?
I stroke an I.
Your gross, you stroke yourself?
Yeah, loser, you are doing it right now.
EGO EGO EGO EGO I go I go I go I go
ANSWER ME: Okay, here, I am very superstitious. I come from a long line of a family, who believes in
the evil eye
manifesting their own destiny through thought
being able to manifest it through speaking it out loud
being able to manifest it through thinking it
the power of positive thinking
the power of negative thinking
making lists that make things go away
incantations that make things go away
incantations that are positive self talk
the power of the number 10
This goes up to 11
I like even numbers.
I missed you, and me and this, and you having a life and not whining about everything.
I believe in manifestation of human life that is not real, I believe in the power of words to cast spells that I feel, will make things happen for me, at least in my head it feels that way, but who knows you know what they say
YOU’RE INSANE AND TO BLAME FOR ALL THE BODIES AT YOUR FEET, WASN’T IT FUN PLAYING WITH SOWING NEEDLES WITH DEAD CHILDREN ON THE STREET
If I talk to you on here, it looks like a superstitious allegory or me being silly and not what it is
or YOU’RE INSANE YOU’R INSANE YOU’RE INSANE and it is ****ed to be your own best friend.
Is it though do you see the voices I talk to?
YOU TALK TO YOURSELF
OoO that was a sick burn, and you know what sometimes, superstitions are justified, peace MF.
So sorry I have no choice but to not pay attention to what I say fighting to go away in my mind, while I speak my voice sounding like awkward door creak, screaming cry or breaking glass, pound on floor, or kicking ***, awkward and unpleasant I am, I don’t know why anyone stands to be around me at all, why they won’t let me heed the siren’s call of death that comes to me in night.
I don’t know why they want me to stay here, just to fight with myself and with them, stupid ideas pushed by the desire to defend nothing but my desire to be right and to be in constant fight, desiring only to hurt and push away so alone I forever stay, everyone please go away… I can’t handle you in any way.
I am weak and you are not, my temper is quick, it make me rot in corners where I sit alone, hate voices and hate the phone, I don’t get it. You say you do, but how can you, that is not true. It makes no sense, it really doesn’t… Sometimes I wish I simply wasn’t……
I don’t know why I can’t say anything I really mean without being incredibly mean, I mean to say I do not know how to disagree and guess it shows because I either hide or kill and don’t like no’s or yes-es or opinions that differ from mine, and prone to silence or telling lies, and so I have been resigned all my life to sit and stew and not dare ever talk to any of you, because I fear my biting tongue, and ever present lack of resistance, utter insistence on being right and love of the act of fight. I am a jerk, a pain, a whiner a crier, a lover of war, of pain and fire. I am mean and I am ruthless, but my arguments you see are not with you, I do not hate anything you do.
They are with me, and what I lack, and my constant desire for attack and death smack. I do not know what to say, so usually I just go away, sit alone and drink or use, and my soul I sear with cold abuse, I am trying but I suck at this, I do not want to do this, and I miss things I never had because I live in fear and I can’t stop because I can’t drink beer or shoot up drugs, and it is not solved with getting hugs or sitting peacefully on rugs or talking to people you say will help me, they do not know the hell it is to be me
I am just simply without words, and I mean it when I tell you it really hurts living alone because you can’t do life, living in constant strife and being tempted to cut with knife, the very fabrics of your fragile life.
I am trying but I can’t right now seem to see what makes you so happy and so free, I am stuck to sit and to think that maybe if I cannot think of anything else, at least I know, I am trying, hope it shows.
I have maintained the anonymity of my real identity not just because I am a liar. I am a liar, but I also thoroughly ruined my life to the point where the anonymity is necessary because there are certain people who are very angry with me who I do not want to have contact with while I am trying to recover from addiction and try to make some sort of effort to be a decent human being. I have faced the very real ramifications of a life spent back and forth on the streets and in houses funded by unsavory methods. I desire the anonymity because there are certain friends I have that are very unsavory characters, who want to kick my *** for lack of a better word. I faced all the situations in this story minus actually having to hurt anyone. I wrote about that as a way to get justice in a fictional way, and get out repressed rage when what really happened was I had to turn the other cheek and feel like a coward because I walked away instead of standing up for myself.
The quiet ramifications of a life of pushing everyone away, or I am surrounded by silence because I pushed everyone away.
I hate it because it reminds me of what a failure I am, I have lived most of my life, lying to myself. I am unhappy because I am alone, and have spent my life drug/alcohol seeking. I do not have any friends, my friends I had are all dead or don’t talk to me anymore, so I sit alone all day and write on here and I hate it and love it at the same time. I love that I am no longer surrounded by the negativity I was surrounding me before, which I don’t want, but it also reminds me what I have missed because of my choices. I chose to dedicate my entire life to drugs and alcohol a magnum opus of failure. I am alone all the time forced to reflect on all the bad choices I have made.
I lived as a homeless person, squatter, bum, panhandler, conartist and petty criminal for the last 17 years. I was on a constant mission to fuel only my addiction while obtaining a master’s degree in public policy which I have used as a way to skirt the law. I have not committed any serious crimes. I have panhandled, lied, cheated, gambled, and conned my way through life. That is the truth, the full truth and no lies.
I am finally coming to a place in my head, where I realize that I am not going to continue the very toxic behavior I have continued my whole life, the bounce back and forth between love and hate the universe, my fault their fault thing. I am accountable for my actions yes, but I am finally coming to a place where I can say, if you don’t like me get away from me, very freely, and without negativity or resentment. I am doing what it is best for me, my feelings are all very real, I am just insane so I am prone to astral projecting the future.
Okay now that I got that out of the way.
I think I am going to start trying to figuring out what to do with the rest of my life. I am not sure what that even means, I like the writing again, I used to do this as a child, but fell off the face of the earth when it comes to doing anything productive for 15 years. I am trying to get my life to a place where I can take care of my own needs without having to commit crimes to eat and pay for a place to live, like I said before all very real, this is all actually happening, this is where both me and Amanda are, I am just where she wants to be people wise. I am how she sees herself later with who she sees herself later with.
I like being able to just sit here and talk to this page, without someone demanding my attention, my daughter sits in the same room, doing her own thing. That was the thing that always got to me about the women in my life, my thing became their thing, and they made it all about them, and then I didn’t even want to do it anymore, it became corrupted with resentment, turning it green and glowing with an aura of sickness, corrupting the image, seeping into its every pore, like a MRSA infection, taking over its form and making it a different thing.
I didn’t ever want to write a book with that ****. I wanted to right one by myself, and she wanted to help me, so she did this stupid thing on here, and I tried to ruin it, with sing song **** that was not even any good, that was mocking of how she talked to me, all rhyme based and stupid, like a nursery rhyme from hell, she is the voice of misery by the way…….. I don’t remember where the **** I was going with that, I got distracted by my daughter telling me a story about Looney Tunes.