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.
Tag: graphic content
I was friends with a man who lived in a motel in a state that’s name does not matter, that I met at a place called The Wall. We called the man the horse, because he ran fast. The whole thing was pretty elaborate but basically was you being led around from place to place while they got you high on other things to distract you and to throw off anyone watching the place this occurred. One of the places they would lead you to was a place called The Wall, it was literally just a wall in the middle of nowhere on an abandoned building.
Sometimes it took 5 hours, and you would stand staring at the wall, get the name choice? You would stand there afraid to miss the great pumpkin. I brought a marker once and wrote “The writing” all over the wall, and they beat the **** out of me, and asked what I was thinking, so I replied..
“Isn’t it obvious??? The writing is on the wall!”
What I was really thinking.. was that **** better come back with all my **** because I was going to beat the **** out of him if he came back with nothing like last time, and he already owed me for two times before that.
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.
You have no idea how it is to be in the bathroom without looking in the mirror, most of the time, I would just shut my freakin’ eyes, which is a pain in the ***, and led to many injuries that were not about being intoxicated, but a lunatic, that had gotten sick of cutting my hands on punching out glass mirrors. I have never looked like myself, in reality or in Misery, I have always looked different, and I would do anything to get rid of my own reflection, even attempt to rip out my own eye, which is why I never touch my eyes. I am still afraid to touch them because of PTSD from one time I tried to rip out my own eye.
I was tripping and unaware of the distinction between reality and dream, I had been awake for days rolling on dxm, and had taken some acid and was either over tired or I don’t and became overcome by the idea that I could do anything I wanted with my hands.. like rip out my own eye, because that is what you would want to do if you realize you are free to do anything you want… I am insane… getting better though… at least this doesn’t happen anymore… small steps.
My family finds it funny that I am still insanely jumpy from living outside, so randomly they will scream and I will scream back at them in various explicit ways and then feel like an ***. I am actually grateful they are doing it because it keeps forcing me to apologize after acting out irrationally. I think, even though they don’t admit it, that is why they keep doing it. I used to never apologize for anything, and I think they like hearing me say I am sorry, over and over again, which I guess I owe them.
Do you reap what you sow? Have you mastered the key of go?
Have contemplated leaving with act of just say no?
Please don't say yes, see them die, see them cry, behold sweet miss and misery dies.
Warning: Graphic content and imagery, which speaks of tragic death of addict through self-harming violinist. Read with caution.
She plays with bone bow, on violin of arm sown with pain and weaved with blood, she cuts into her skin with bone sent from below, not realizing that with every hit of skin with bone sown in attack, what is cut does not grow back
She is in state of instating perpetual attack on own soul by death sown with owned bow in key of oh, no! Her song is so-so. Her pain is more-so. She is an average player, but better self-slayer, bone breaker, she damages her tool, by playing in key of fool, ruled by pain, she paint the night with noise of life slain in blood rain or blood reign, she plays and she paints at the same time, of the death of a generation killed by their own mind, in merciless fire bind, enslaved to addicted mind, tortured soul with song of death, spending life as active in self deception she is ever attending Hell’s reception, soul crushing death inspection.
Her tears are red but read they are too, the fall below and hit her shoes, her shoes were white once now there red, pretty soon, she’ll sure be dead. Wonder if she will see how red her shirt has come to be? Before she is destined to be dead, buried in skin of red, with eyes of death spent on life theft, pained breath and song of left.
I think that is why this bothers me so much, maybe. You don’t stop learning until you die. I think that might be a little melodramatic, maybe… I don’t think this website wants to assume they are getting to hear the thoughts of a dying man, which would not be a terrible thing either… I guess…. because then at least… well… someone would get to hear them?
Last thing I learned…
That it is important to follow the rules, so that is why I am re-doing this post…
Along that line of thought, I learned to not be lazy and that I can do an AA day count on my computer and bring it to the meetings that I go to even though I personally don’t like counting days, there is something to be said for the reverence to structure that in this case is my personal revelation that is not personal at all, powered by God and recovery to shut up and listen.
There, I followed the rules.
Amanda, wasn’t that the name of the villain in that book you read?
Yes, see my point? Cool name.
Psychotic name choosing strategy.
Yeah, says the guy named Damien, omen.
I am named by you as well, and jerk my name is cool.
I know I named you ****.
Enough of that, I really liked Cal in that book too. I don’t recall the name of the book right now, but the author was brilliant. I am on a mission to find all the weird horror authors on library carts that are selling books for a dollar, and save them from the trash because even though I like the kindle, these are free, and easier on my eyes and hands.
Peace in peices,
TRIGGER WARNING- EXPLICIT CONTENT
( Explanation- Method)
Abstract Art with a purpose and strange method, to wake up the sick and suffering who haven’t changed their mind by reflections on joy and pain.
Read me first, please.
Explanation: This piece uses the analogy of a serial killer torturing captive victim to personify addiction because addicts in active addiction are captive and captivated by the captor in much the same way that a person experiences Stockholm Syndrome, the addict experiences desire to use or drink even though the drug and it’s torturous dispenser torment the victim.
Methodology: Meditative piece to do two things
provide clear thought through meditation on pain experienced during active addiction through over amplification of how bad it was done through personification in this case, personified addiction/serial killer tormenting captive victim. ‘
This approach also illustrates to judging eyes the demons, in the rawest form that taunt the addict doing this
Creating empathy for those who were faced with lack of understanding
showing society the clear picture of what exists on the street in effort to aide full transformation of dual diagnosis and PTSD individuals
We are dealing with human beings here they have mental scars-PTSD and damaged thought processes.
They need understanding, and very specific care specialized to them
some people need extra help not as simple as you think, they are not selfish they are struggling.. be understanding.
I am the ex·or·cism of person demons, that are
ME IN AGONY EXPERIENCED IN screaming in words on scream, I am mean I am green, I do not speak what I mean I speak the exorcism
Got it that time, whore.
Of personalized demons.
Isn’t it precocious that those prone to overdoses are also those prone to an inner bind of
I WILL NOT RESIGN TO MY FATE, BECAUSE YOU ARE UNKIND I AM entwined in a constant human bind of a deranged mind because I hate
Change, and I love it
GIVE ME MONEY
Isn’t it funny? Sweetie…… how I can choose to speak to you so sweetly, because I love you so, oh baby please don’t go, I love you so…..
GET OUT I will rip your eyes OUT with my hands, I will claw at your bare legs with finger nails dug into skin with present
INFECTION Beyond detection because I hid it from you
I am an addict sorry, I know not what I do,
Oh baby I love you so please do not go.
I am no fun
I am the roller coaster dice ride of ice slide, of moments before you die, a fixation with falling and screaming
KILL ME PLEASE I AM ON MY KNEES BABY PLEASE
No. I love you so, I want to stay with you forever and ever honey,
Because isn’t funny, my reality is runny, so I like it when you are too.
DRIP DRIP DRIP Oh did I hurt you.
Smack, I loved heroin with my heroines, I love to add it to your blood
FOOL DON’T WASTE IT ON HER MURDERER
Damn it. I told you I don’t care how white you are, you answer back,
Do you hear the birds singing, I am bored with this, I will dispose of you later, I am going outside.
The path is fine liar…. there is NOTHING WRONG WITH ME.
I AM FINE DON’T YOU SEE! LEAVE ME ALONE. I CAN’T REMEMBER ANYTHING BECAUSE I DON’T CARE.
You can’t hurt me, you are not even there,
STOP SCREAMING YOU ARE DEAD I DON’T hear anything you said, because baby I am sorry to tell your aching head, you got into the wrong spot on the wrong day, with the wrong guy so you had to die.
Oh, I am sorry I don’t know what I was doing, you are free to go. Have a nice day.
Strong antibiotics are intense, man.
Ow… I feel like I am going to keel over in a ball of vomiting bile.
This really *****.
It is my fault though, and I get that, someone in one of the rooms yesterday told me this is common while getting used to recovery, that I am feeling this as intensely as a sort of latent effect withdrawal. I am told this is because every time I was sick before I wouldn’t deal with it, shoving it under a rug, like a cat hiding vomit trails so its owner doesn’t get mad, except I am the cat and the owner and I was only fooling myself. I am in the process of cleaning up my vomit stench house of existence that is the shell casing of my human body.
This is tough because I hate my human body. It doesn’t like me either, but it is being learned that killing myself or my friend is bad, because death is final and neither of us want that..