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.
I aim to be only me, who is two people, now I know, I am two people, both are us, we are both male, I don’t the second name, I just know the feeling of disdain that came with female name, and how she hated me, so much to paint me, as the villain of her story.
We saved each other, and now are two and now I can be with her, and her with you. I am not sure, what any of this means, just acceptance of who we are, and that we exist far from the rest of those who are not the same, and that’s okay with me at least, may not be with everyone, but that is okay too, you don’t have to know me if you don’t want to.
I just know that now I can look in the mirror, without experiencing soul eating fear.
I did a brief inquiry into the history of this house, and found nothing. So I don’t think the ghost has to do with the house, and what is strange is the same thing happened when I came back downstairs, so I am done as of now, talking about anything negative on this site. I will do my best to make this site a positive place, going forward, as I think this is something that is directed at me specifically and wants to me to be angry and miserable. I am no longer going to be serving whatever it is.
That is all for now, in this post anyway.
Peace and love
I can still talk to you though we exist not in the same dimension, all the time at least, I visit you because I see you, you see me and you speak and I hear you because I listen. I listen to everything, to the mutterings of the under spoken word, to the shouting to mad dark night, to the words callously yelled into chaotic dark night, because they used to consume me, but they don’t anymore, because I realized I can cast them out on here.
I travel back and forth to Misery through my mind, and through others, who I see, stuck there, and they speak to me from there. I can see it in them speaking to me, speaking through them now, this came to me last night after a dream, I have been having strange dreams.
I am thinking that ghosts sometimes just want to be heard and are not used to being heard so say thing that they have always wanted to say very quickly and it is up to me to decode them because the universe is showing me them and them me for a reason, positive being the key over negative.
I mean that wholeheartedly, talking to myself helps me, and I am hoping maybe it will help someone else to see my displayed vanity insanity typed over and over, and it is better to talk to myself on here then cry myself to sleep, or get drunk or high because I am scared. Okay, not going to erase that, it felt very good to write that.
I have a very hard time admitting weakness,
Can I help you with something?
This says to my brain
You are paying attention to me
Stop looking at me **** it.
I am doing fine, if you only knew what my life was like you would look this ****** too, so stop reminding me of how pathetic I am by implying I need anything from you.
You have noticed something I am doing that illustrates that there would be any reason I need help.
I do everything to the best of my ability at the time, which is very poorly because I am a drug addict and an alcoholic who sucks at everything except engaging in fits of rage or joy on the internet, and I say that lightly because displays of affection towards myself are disgusting. 😉
You are telling me something I am doing is inadequate which makes me mad immediately because why are you looking for inadequacy in someone you don’t know
You think I need anyone other than myself.
This makes me feel uncomfortable because I don’t want to want or need people, because then they can hurt me.
I am terrified of wanting or needing anyone.
I would rather be rejected immediately
Kindness of strangers annoys me, because I am just going to say the wrong thing and cause discomfort for everyone.
I was SAVED SAVED SAVED
From life of SLAVE SLAVE
Enough of that, hahaha. Sorry, that is fun. I like to make fun of myself. I thought I was so free, loving no one, having only myself, well all two of me. I was my own best friend,
whoever you want me to be baby
Just a Roger Rabbit-esque fetish eyes version of what I was. It was not pretty, it was not fun, but a grew a light inside me from being perpetually spun.
This light is the light that saved my life, and I owe it to perpetual strive through self infliction through addiction. I am a hero who quit their job because they realized putting in on the end of hero, kills people who need hugs, love, sympathy and help. They are suffering from a disease which has dissing ease in its name. I learned that through 15 years of personal pain inflicted by me and my split self. I would cycle through
It’s your fault
No it’s yours
Till there was no place to bring the memories, and I almost went completely insane. I forgot my name, and ended up in a psych ward. I almost killed myself, but now like a flower in a garden fertilized by corpses of my friends who weren’t so lucky, I crying out, crying for them, hope to save others, even if it is just one shunned addict. Please know we love you and there is hope and peace in what I speak of.
Bear with me. I am trying to decode all this eerie memory myself. I am telling you this in the most clear way I can. It will be choppy like my memories, because I was intoxicated for most of it. I also don’t feel good right now, physically I mean. I was at the hospital all day.
I am standing holding a sign on a street near a 7-11, and there is a man who knows me, he says we have spoken before, and I feel the same way. I see in his face, I know him and I don’t know how or why. He tells me that he needs to tell me something, and that he cannot tell me this thing in public, so we go and people follow us, I don’t know who they are, and I am sober, I am lucid, I am paying attention. I can tell they are following me. I can see them out of the corner of my eyes, they are actually following me. I see them, but I pretend I don’t.
He tells me they follow him too. He tells me they always follow him.
I ask him why. He says he doesn’t know, he says he need my help. I follow him. We walk around and he tells me about these people, that follow him. He says he doesn’t know who they are or why they follow him.
I am standing in a different spot in a different place. It is a grocery store, it is 3 am. I am looking down at a pack of spare ribs, I don’t know why. I do not have anyway to cook them, a man comes up to me and asks me if he can follow me for awhile. I say yes. We go drinking. We are outside, we walk up to a house, with an open gate that looks abandoned tonight. The lights are off. The windows are bare, and there is no one inside. I am remembering earlier, the house… so full of life… a swing set in the backyard… a pool filled with water, and children swimming… the pool is empty… no water… the walls are bare. I can see this because all the windows are open and there is…
I am running… different time… different place… there is a blue splendid looking light in the sky… in the shape of a jelly fish.. I am high and tired, and think it is about that… I am with my friend who has since gone insane and we are on the beach and we realize there is this same blue light on the ground we run our hands through it, and spread it all over laughing and joyous talking of the beauty of the universe.
I am another place another time, I am sitting on the sidewalk talking to someone with memories that are fractured, telling me that he is a jigsaw puzzle…
So I am allowed…
I fucking found Rei, or she found me. Or, what really happened was. I don’t know. I don’t know…
I woke up in this motel bed, sleeping next to Rei and she is alive, and my daughter is still in the next room alive.
There are two living people in this motel room, three including me.
Rei is in my bed, not fucking dead, and my daughter is on the couch.
I am going to shoot myself, not really. This is the most amazing thing I have ever had happen to me in my whole life. I love this new weird typing lunatic.
Well, right now that is me or is it her or is it me?
I keep looking at my family and they are still here, and I can feel if I concentrate…
My universe being typed onto my existence. I think I am going to… lay down.
I have been watching him on here, I met him outside my house, he was standing outside talking to himself about not knowing what was going on, I have my ways of calming men like him down. I invited him inside, and he sat on my couch with me, and started crying and laughing at the same time. He was manically speaking like he had been awake for days about about six hundred things at once, I think he was unable at that point to differentiate between regular speech and talking, either that or he didn’t care. It was probably that he didn’t care, the whole thing made me think of a man melting onto the floor, as if someone had poured acid on him.
He is storing this computer and actually himself, in my living room, because I like him, and I am lonely. I don’t think he would remember to come back here if I let him outside. I will be writing with him on this site in place of his ex-girlfriend now. He seems like the kind of man, who can’t handle being alone despite a tendency to kill his lovers.
Four words and back words
For words and back wards
Four wards and back wards
For wards and back words
Four words and back wards
Do you even know what that means???
He screams, as she lies dead on the floor. I don’t know what you mean, please don’t fucking scream. Why am I? Am I talking to you or me?