There is someone there, who has bad intentions, because they are simply there, and everyone has bad intentions.
There is someone there, and I don’t like them, because they have bad intentions, because everyone has bad intentions.
I am afraid of myself.
I am afraid of being back in padded rooms, which I have been in before.
I am afraid that whenever you help me, it is one step away from the constraints on my arms to help myself.
Control myself, accept the things I can’t change…
I ruined my own life, and I am trying to fix it, and people are trying to help me, stop ripping their heads off with words.
I think everyone is out to get me, because I am an idiot, or that is what it feels like sometimes… both of those things alternating not simultaneous, never simultaneous, unfortunately…. not yet at least. I can never remember when under insane delusion, that I am prone to insane delusions and that as much as it seems like people are out to get me…. just realized why my ex’s hated that wording… they are not out to get me..
That kind of sucks.. because now I have to admit I was ***hole fighting the universe my whole life. I did the right thing and apologized, and it was very humiliating.
What brings you to these woods, my woods, what do you want?
You are not desired here intruder, and should leave, having, as you do dominion over the whole expanse outside these woods, while I have nothing but them.
There is no reason for your presence hear, there are plenty of other woods, in areas much like this, that you can row your little boat in the river of.
This is the only spot that has yet to be discovered by the park rangers damn it, and it is the only spot you decided to row your stupid little boat.
Your boat sucks, and I hate you.
**** it. I dropped my cigarette. ****. I hate you. Now it’s ****ing wet.
Getting my own place, and moving on with everything I mean. I am realizing how much worse this whole thing has made me, and thinking that having a place where I can be alone would be good. I think the paranoia will get a lot better, if I am alone. Which is funny because I think that this something the universe was trying to tell me and I wasn’t listening. I think that this is why I have gotten as bad as I have, because I am pretty insane right now, or I think I am… in comparison to how I used to be.
I just talked to my family about getting an attorney to handle a disability claim I have going on, because I am very good at losing jobs, over and over and over. I have had a lot of them, but I lose every single one for one reason or another. Usually because some paranoid delusion justifies me not showing up or being drunk or high when I show up because I am afraid and use or drink because I am afraid.
It really helped me to talk to my family about all of this, I feel less like a pacing lunatic now, at least I know the whole world is not out to get me now.
It was this guy ranting about how prison doesn’t sound that bad
- Free food
- Free TV
- Free tablets
- Free internet
- Free place to live
I thought it was hilarious, but then was immediately grasped at the neck by anxiety and asked her why she was showing it to me.
I hate being schizophrenic, I have done nothing that would cause me to worry about this, but that is my instant reaction. I hate being insane. I didn’t snap at her. Small steps.
Do you know how dangerous it is to light off fireworks while playing with sparklers while poking a bull in the eye that you painted pink after dosing it with sedative and draping flowers over the horns with a snake on your hand?
Neither do I.
But, I wonder what it would be like to do that sometimes.
It sounds like a good way to kill yourself.
It does doesn’t it?
Excellent newspaper headline because it would be really long and the editor would not know what to do.
They would just be like this is so oddly specific who would do this?
You would do that.
No I wouldn’t. Because I haven’t, and if I did I wouldn’t tell anyone about it before I did it.
You would tell them after you did it?
So you already did it?
So now you can’t do it.
Yeah, I was telling on myself. I was thinking about doing it today.
Do you have all the things you need to do it.
None of them, that’s why I put it on here instead.
If you didn’t put it on here you would have to do it?
What if you couldn’t find the things.
That’s why it is on here.
I get tiny pieces… still can’t spell that word right… even though I know that whole I before e thing… whenever I write on here, I feel like everyone can see me the whole time, failing miserably at everything, but enough of my hissy fit.
I most of the time know am coming to be acquainted with what I think peace might feel like. I don’t know what it truly means to be at peace because most of my mind, is still a ranting chaotic mess of stream of can’t spell that word either.. I need to be less moronic.
I am starting to really like Diane, which scares me, terribly because I like her in a different non-obsessive way, that I have never felt before, and I think that might be because I am actually starting to like myself, a little. I don’t know though, the whole thing scares me.
I don’t want my claws ripped out.
We are standing next to each other, but in the coldness of night… I can feel our separateness. I can feel that we are merely parts in a universe of pieces, and for a second I panic, knowing that the only thing that connects me to him are threads that are unreal. I have no invisible tether which ties me to this man. I am truly alone, and that frightens me, and I hope, as horrible as it is to say… he is frightened too. I look at him and realize he is crying. I heard him coughing or what I thought is coughing. I walk away slowly, and he starts to say something, but stops and I pretend not to hear.
“I wish….”, echoes into the dark night from his lips, as I walk away. I do not know what he wishes, and I will not find out if he was talking to me. We have an unspoken, understanding that I am not to see his moments of weakness. I simply pretend that he does not have them. We never speak about them.
He comes back over to me, but does not make eye contact with me. His downcast gaze, passes over the ground, painting it with the red stare that he casts on the day walkers. He looks as though he is trying to cast himself off the earth, and there is a part of me that wishes that he could, to end his pain. I do not know what it is about, and dare not ask.
Breath. The electric way it dances on my neck, zinging electricity through my spine, drawing my mind to your dark eyes.
In the dark holes, where your supposed soul lurks, I find only dirt and earth, and buried grave intentions where you have opened hearts of those with long hair.
They penetrate my soul with stares that pinch, prick and dig for every inch of humanity I have, because secretly it makes me sad, because I hate to say
Damien, I want only you, and to be the only one who gets to look at you, so keep you secret, I will do, by dragging dead bitches back to dance with you.
Like playing cat I bring rare treat, I bring you food for soul to eat, I am a good girl who cooks red meat.
I am rare, a special treat.
Sometimes, he leaves me notes, or maybe I leave me notes, when they are not of a completely aggressive nature. I sometimes wonder if the notes were in fact me writing to him, which is actually me writing to me as him, reminded me as him or him as me to drink water so me as me which is really me as him or him as me, to drink running water. I am not sure if the note means to drink water when I run or to make sure not to drink stagnant water or to drink water while running or to drink stagnant water.
I do not know if these notes are coming from him trying to kill me because he wants me to die and him to take over, but if I died wouldn’t he die too? Does he know this? Or is he not aware and this me reminding him to drink it?
Wait… isn’t he just a figment of my imagination anyway, who cares who is writing the notes, they are both me.
I think I am losing my mind.