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: heroin addict
I loved her so very much, I decided to treat her poorly.
So in love with black and white, you are, you are my shooting star, you are everything to me, I love you so clearly, so dearly, you are everything that I ever wanted, and needed, please stay always my
I loved her so very much, I decided.
To treat her poorly, was not my intention, and of it I make mention to mention why, I treated her
My treat is to retreat.
I am a coward.
She was mean to me.
I am coward, and did not want to see.
You are an addict.
You are a liar.
I hold a lamp shinning on your soul, alight with HELL FIRE.
So becoming, so become, in becoming, we come undone.
I am a wall, I am a cage, I am the idea of nothing new on each page, I am your case, I am your form, I am the idea of forlorn.
In the begining it was decided, that you are you, and you cannot deny it. You get what you get, you give it all away, you are locked in a cage forever to stay.
I survived a deadly fire, glowing eyes rage much higher than flames or smoke could ever reach, on wings I fly not to be beseeched by scalding hot embers that lay beneath, my wings serve me and I reach heights unknown to human being, and due to this my dear it seems, I remain so far away, from flames igniting on that tragic day, when all you loved was reduced to nothing, and in this setting and pain stuffing, burned all that you had within you.
Sear me seer, sear me deep
I am all that lives beneath
I am all you seek to hide
Everytime you ever cried
Sear me seer, sear me deep
I am all that lives beneath
I am alone, I am alone, Eye am alone.
No need for anyone, or for phone, or sound, I exist in the resounding sound of down, of put down, deep underground.
I am the act of burrow, I am brow furrowed.
In a cave kind of like this, an abysmal abyss of pure dark bliss, kissed with grey of the act of away, she existed just in this, like this, in bliss.
The dark expanses of this place, painted her face with darkness, with space, with the act of erase, of space, of just exist, in this, pure bliss, death’s kiss.
In a cave that was painted with the power of the abyss,
She lived out her days of swimming in dark waters, and filling her mouth with their mucky dirt, in her world of hurt.
She was a sorrow filled creature, with a deep dark soul, that was like the painted cave, and with misery taking it’s toll.
She was devoted to sadness, it was her favorite drink, and with every sip, she would sit and she would think.
Baby please, get off your feet, and meet me on the ground.
Come back down, and hear the resounding sound of quiet.
You are daylight’s riot.
I wish only for quiet.
You are my fire fly. You are sunlight’s spy, a flashlight in the comfort of night sky. Hanging lights up so you can see, every bit of nature’s landscape clear to you, the lover of blue sky and morning dew.
Nothing of night pleasant or in view, you seek to chase away the dark vacantness, that is my permanent vacation nest. In everything you strive to erase or chase away, is every place I desire to stay.
We were in cahoots, she was my new friend, well not really…
She was my friend, for every minute we contrived, some plan to rip off everyone who as she, was not so divine. In truth, I cared for nothing, not even her kiss, just was on a mission to get a really good fix, for a problem contrived, by a mind addicted to mixed poision, if with her I could have stayed, I would not have not left…
Oh, silly girl, I loved you so, with my friend in love, say it’s not so. I loved you so much, but daren’t piss him off, now I think of you always and never, hope you are better off.
I am the bad guy, and you just wrote a love poem to heroin.
Is that what you really think?
You realize you are insane?
So this is what it has come to, the one word answer game, so you look good and I look bad?
You are not real.
I am staring at an image, but staring at you.
I am writing to you, but also writing to that, because I never love anyone else first, not even my cat. I worship a goddess, who is made by spoon fire, who is fed with cotton, and sown with desire, I worship you, baby, but really do not, my love for something else is always too hot, it is lit by a candle, a lighter, a match, it is burned till its ready, hope death don’t I catch, I speak of the past here, because I no longer have, enough veins left to do heroin.
I hate myself, I am an anthem to a bottle and a needle and spoon on dusty shelf, I am all that everyone should never aspire to be,
To see clearly, is not in my power to do, I am forever blinded, by the beauty of you.
I love you person I don’t know, because you are beautiful and glow, with colors of say it isn’t… anyone I met, so you are not dead to me yet, because you simply don’t exist, you are idea of bliss or chaotic death either one because I know I ****, and am horrible at everything so I ruin anything I have and would ruin things with you too, and that no longer makes me sad, because I am
Insane, and engaged in a worship of myself, or with items on my shelf, that I threw out for now because I… actually they got stolen… and it was
Really ****y, but you are really pretty, for a second you make me think of something else,
Heroine, oh Heroin, I love you so,
Heroine, oh Heroin, I wish I could forget you,
And not be writing love poems to a woman who is really a metaphor for how I am a pathetic loser.
My whole is not my fault. I was scre… can’t even sarcastically say this, this is insane, not true, ****.
I am blame.
I am not at fault.
It was fate from the very start, I have done nothing wrong, my whole life, Hell’s theme song.
I am such a bad liar.
My hand! My hand!
It’s got to be my hand, my hand, because I am missing my finger tips on three fingers, my thumb, my right one, the right one, the one I used to write with, not I type with… that has to be the reason that I failed, lived a life of ship has sailed, clearly not that I jumped off, long ago.
Your hand happened, our hand happened when we were 32, you are 36, four years was not all the ruining we did…
You said we, not just you…
I know, I feel sorry for you sometimes.
I know stupid, I am good at that.
Wow, that is disgusting don’t type that…
Oh I know, I thought that too, I am always right behind you.
That is creepy as all Hell.
Guess, what it got us.
It is just as well.
Spent 100,000 grand on political science masters, and then spent 15 years as a petty criminal while developing an unhealthy obsession with women who will never love me because I hate myself and hating them for it, while drinking and doing drugs which made everyone hate me, including making hate myself and then made excuses for why it was everyone’s fault, but my own, while sitting around talking to myself… and pretending myself is my wife…
Hey, ***hole, I am a pers… well, we are the… you are right….
I don’t even want to be this time…
I feel like ****… I want to get high……
Don’t do that to me, I am not going to, I am not going to encourage this…
I know, I know.
Please baby, don’t go away, I need you so much, you are so sweet, your love is so special, you make me complete. You are my sunshine, my sweet turtle dove, you make me feel everything I thought meant true love. I love everything about you, without you I’ll die, I am ever so sorry I had to lie. You wouldn’t understand, could not tell truth, I need your money, couldn’t tell you.
I needed your money, and feared you would cry, so I told you a little tiny white lie, but don’t worry sweetie, it is okay, I promise I’ll stop, now don’t go away. I promise to always do what you say, now stop your crying and please let me
Tell her everything you need her to hear, she is your source of happiness, now ***hole be sincerce.
I am addiction
I aim for the heart
I take everything you love
I am the act of push and shove
My turtle dove, my turtle dove, you are gone, because I only loved myself and that bottle and needle and spoon on my upper right shelf.
Burn me please,
I am on my knees,
I miss your sweet carress
Oh, one who looked so pleasant in a white dress.
I love you so much, you are so great, ever so sorry we no longer relate, you are so lovely, I am so sad, so very tragic you made me so mad, I loved you so dearly, we related so well, you made me feel like I’d escaped fom pure hell, you were so perfect… now you are
I am so sad I knew you so long, I wanted it to work out so sad it did not, so very tragic our love was so hot, it made me so happy to see
Clearly that you were such a miserable peice of ****, so glad, so sad, too bad, baby, enjoy the cash you stole from me, hope it was ****ing worth it.
Which is great for me, because the building I was living in at the time was not dark, but was abandoned, which I told her…
she said it was edgy, whatever the **** that means, apparently being a junkie is edgy? I don’t think she knows what edgy means. I don’t really have much of a choice of whether or not she is coming with me because she kind of just started following me to my edgy ****hole of an, “I sleep here till I am told to vacate…”.
I am the glamour of the unknown.
I am so free, you do not even know.
I spend every day and every night in a continuous race to erase my whole **** life.
I am talking to her, and I realize she is not even listening to me…..
The oddest thing about the whole thing, was that eventually at some point during the whole thing she just walked away, I tried to ask her where she was going, and she just kept walking, saying nothing, just left…. to this day, I wonder what she wanted, and there is a part of me that still thinks she was a ghost.
I moved my spot the next day, I wonder sometimes if she was a sad junkie that lived in that building who thought it was edgy at first and then died there… or if she was just my brain telling me to stop doing drugs through hallucinations.
I am walking by myself, like always every night, possessed by bottle on the shelf of a wall that is abandoned, by all who do not stand in the wreck that my life has landed in
I am darkness, I am pain, I am embodied disdain.
I am dark acid rain
Reigning down on soul of nothing
I have taken up to living. here… my home is here..
Yes, my dear, I have beer, and nothing… I have nothing to…
This is my home.. this is alone.. my home…
If that’s what you call this …in this building… she thinks this is interesting… drunken creature… following me…
Calls me brave, saying I made some stand against something…that I am standing up for something…. myself I assume.. I stand in my own tomb….possessed by the fire of chaotic desire to consume….
I am glamorization of Hell
I am woman’s desire to dispell everything her parent’s told her not to do
I am where you shouldn’t be
I am do not envy me
She helps me light a fire, tells me she wants to be like me.. free….
She does not see what is really there, illuminated godess… standing at the corner of a dark cliff, wanting to jump
What is it you want
You want this?
She talks to me for an hour, and for an hour everything is alright, she has to leave in the morning promises to come back, promises she actually meant everything she said.. I know she is lying…… I am nothing but a night of adventure.. I am nothing but the desire to deny potential…
I am the glamorization of a life of loss..
I am the glamorization of the freedom that is the chains of addiction..
I never see her again because heroine’s do not save heroin addicts…
I have to save myself……
Maybe if I do… one day I will see someone like you again.
I am standing on the beach alone, or so I think… It is the middle of the day, but it is misty and the ocean gatherers have cleared about because it feels like it is about to rain, the mist is thick and penetrating, cold enough that I am beginning to be unable to feel my fingers. The water is warmer than the air, I wade into the water, and allow the water to warm my tingling skin, and strangely feel someone, somewhere looking at me, strange….
There is nothing to our actions, we exist as we always do, doing what we do because we do it
We look forward because we do
Do not make this about something larger, we are not what you lack
We stare forward into the distance
It is your own soul that you attack
I could have sworn there was no one there.. but I can feel it… a human being staring at me.. I look around and still can’t see anyone, but can feel the warm presence of someone there. It feels like I am being watched by someone, maybe from far away. I look around at the birds, and they are still, not moving, not making any sounds. They stand perfectly still, as if watching someone too….
I remain standing there for I don’t even know how long, and at this point, I am not sure how much time has passed by, but I feel like I can hear the birds thinking to me, they do not think like human beings do, they think in a sort of group think, collective conscious, letting me know that nothing abnormal is going on, at least not with them.
I distinctly feel someone behind me, and look around, I still see no one, but I swear I can feel someone watching me. At this point I am so unsure of the time, and so overtaken by this strange sense of urgency, I leave the beach and run up to the nearest sign of humanity, of any sign of life, I find a white fence, and thankfully for a second, while I stand choking on my own aloneness, my own discomfort, trying to get some sort of semblance of normal feeling, I again feel someone standing behind me.
She crouches down and looks deep into my eyes, her skin glowing with an unearthly angelicness…
You heard them to, she says to me, not with her mouth, she thinks it at me, she thinks it over and over frantically, with a desperateness that lets me know that at least for this one moment, there is some peace in my universe of aloneness, that for one moment, even if it is just that one moment, someone, even if they are kidding me, even if they are making fun of me, is existing alongside me in a hallucination…
She starts laughing……….
I start laughing…. and for one moment, one moment in my entire life, I know what it is like to have someone who understands me.
I drop my wallet, I drop my wallet and look down, and wouldn’t care… I wouldn’t care, except there is something in my wallet that I think I need so I grab it and it falls out… she looks down and walks away………
I ruin everything in my life.
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 am addicted to heroin, to heroine, to heroin, to heroine.
I am addicted to nothing right now actually, but think about you, about it, about you, about it
All the time, all the time, all the time.
I am addicted to heroin, to heroin, because you are not here with me, and actually none of this is true, except I miss you so much, and hate myself so much for the fact that I destroy everything that is good in my life.
Need an outlet, I am spinning tales of death to distract myself from what I am really thinking. It is 9:24 on the east coast……. and I am sitting staring into the darkness of this screen, thinking of how much I long for something, out of sickness…. I long for you… oh spindle of silence,
Heroin, oh heroin, I love you so,
Heroin, oh heroin, why must I say no?
Why, must I long for you for the sweet kiss of death every night at this time?
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.
In a fog of vapor, an addict puts pen to..
An addict lies about nothing to make things rhyme while wasting time
Spinning rhymes to distract themselves… have you heard there are two of me?
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 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.
“Wherever they burn books, in the end will also burn human beings.”
– Heinrich Heine
EXPLICIT CONTENT: Post uses poetic analogy for the addict backed into a corner and told to drink, when this happens we sometimes attack like a killer or a vicious dog. This is metaphorical only, I have only ever killed anyone with my silence, not saying anything as my friends died in active addiction. These are allegories in all gory glory.
We are in a basement, a base meant for debasement of everything I have ever come to know to be true about myself. I am looking into the eyes of a woman who I used to know, I still know her, but I am choosing to forget this right now, not now but then.
Rei hands me a bottle, it had booze in it. I think she is handing it to me to drink it, it is everclear, funny name for alcohol that makes you so unclear..
I get pissed, so I put a cloth in it soak it in alcohol, by dipping it in the bottle, the smell of it disgusting, I hate it. I am sickened by the smell and want only to get it off my hands. I light the rag on fire, and she tells me the girl who sits in front of me wants me to drink it. I have been up for five days, and I would have known that what she is saying is not true, had I not been high, and been thinking clearly not thinking under the influence of things that cloud my mind.
I throw the burning bottle at the woman’s feet, Rei thinks I did this to burn the woman alive, and laughs. I was aiming at the book on the floor, the **** had a copy of a book about alcoholism at her feet, hating the irony I want to burn it.
The girl burned alive, because I can’t look in the mirror.
I watched because I couldn’t figure out how to put it out.
“I want to put my hand out and touch you. I want to do for you and care for you. I want to be there when you’re sick and when you’re lonesome.” “They seemed to come suddenly upon happiness as if they had surprised a butterfly in the winter woods,””I want to put my hand out and touch you. I want to do for you and care for you. I want to be there when you’re sick and when you’re lonesome.” “They seemed to come suddenly upon happiness as if they had surprised a butterfly in the winter woods,”
Edith Wharton, Ethan Frome
My family is helping me with moving it back here, and I am going to use it to organize my life, I read a lot and there are all these books all over the room that make it look cluttered, and are an annoyance to my family. I am trying to be less selfish, and self-centered. I am realizing that while taking accountability for things is good, I have been going about it in a flawed way, which is similar to not doing it at all. I have not been letting myself move past it, and have been dwelling on everything in my traditional woe is me stupid narcissistic way of looking at the world, done. I am sick of myself, and want to move, so I am doing it now.
There are so many cool books in that room that have been left over from our families leaving them after moving. I have plenty do now, so I think it will be easier than ever to stop whining about how crappy I feel and do things to make me feel better.
They think I get up in the middle of the night to experience the hours of the day before they wake up, this is only half true. I do not do this out of a desire to be alone. I just simply enjoy quiet when I can. I have not had much quiet in my life at all, and the second they wake up, against their and my will… I listen to their existence every second I am present, not in a resenting way, actually quietly I sit and marvel at the people who surround me now, because I appreciate so much hearing voices other than my own incessant talking in my own head, or against my will at loud to myself. I am so happy to be around people who are not me, because as much as I sound like I am in love with myself, this is a defense mechanism. I am deeply insecure. I hate everything about me, because I am a cruel, uncaring person. I want to be better, but I have been like this so long, it takes time for me to learn to not be.
I loved getting away from reality so much I devoted my whole life to the worship of the idol toys of a man insane, substances have been my best friend along with my own self in female form. I have existed for so long talking only to me or the other me, on street corners where I am either shouting, crying or laughing in lunacy with lack of regard for those around me. I did this because I was in pain from pain I was unknowingly causing myself. I was drinking/using to forget drinking using to forget what I had to do to get drugs and alcohol to forget, drinking using to forget. I am a horrible human being, no really I am, but I am in the process of trying to turn that around now.
What happens those who trade time for items?
What happens to those who don’t remember might is might and mite is bug?
What happens to those who are them they speak of fearing with them being a method of OD? Why can’t my generation see clearly that clear is blurry vision?
Because when you don’t sleep you have no dreams anymore.
I spent my time on rearranging words, I am human surge of pain in vain in vein. I am a heroine addicted to heroin bought from them or meth rearranged, I am brain drain from rearranging words- them sells meth, them is meth. How do you know they are out to get me? They sold it to me don’t you see? I buy time and sell mine back. I buy nothing but life spent in lack of time consuming dimes of nothing but pain stuffing into skin of ripping out with sensation of go without.
I am the act of breathing poison air, while staring into nothing, because I am not there, I consume joy in chemical form,
Ode to serotonin spent on the forlorn scorn of human addict to tragedy porn. I am buying dying while lying to self that this feels good, I am purchasing the act of attacking soul while doing what no one should. I am them whose method is to be, afraid and running and OD. I am the ER in screaming we are! I am the act of forming heroin scares. I am the dropped eternity from heroic female, I am the street that beats with feat in fete of defeat.
I am a bad dream no one has because we don’t sleep. I am the act of dying when you forget to eat. I am forgetting that dreams are wonder, I am hours spent on corner instead sleeping or in act of wonder, I am thunder that clashes in nightmare land that makes it hard to sleep or hard to stand. I am the death of an entire generation of dreamers or so it seems. I am Gen Y’s never ending nightmare fueled dream.
That like a just dessert you can eat sinfully, it is gooey, and sticky candy, it taste of marshmallow and is so handy, it is wonderful sticky candy, my dad would make when I was young and my mom had gone for a run to the school, he would do it on Back to School Night, so me and my brother and sister would not fight, we would instead delight in divinity, and he would talk to us about the man in the sky and that when we were lucky enough to go up high we would not have to worry or to cry but delight in the power of pure light.
My mom was an atheist growing up, her trust was rusted, pain dusted, broken, sad, that is why she came to love my dad, but today, I am glad to say she is beginning to know peace, and I hope that some of this is from me, telling her I am sorry, that I meant none of the bad things I said, and that she can rest her head that gave birth to me, instead of soul staining blame disdain, I am trying to remember the pain I caused, so I don’t get lost in ideas of me, and remember she gave me this, the life, the love, desire for bliss.
I thank her everyday now, so she can lay her head down in peace every night, knowing I love her.
I am man with knife that spreads jam on toast instead of man who jams in head the killing knife that was made for bread.
I am man who does not stab but cuts apart, an apple instead of human heart, I have realized with my eyes that see, coming out of insanity, that I do not have to be Amanda I can be free. I am released from human cage, a player now not just on page, I do not have to employ rage, I can instead say this I desire human bliss, I can give love, I can give kiss. I am not supposed to be anything but free to be me. I should have known this from the start but drugs and booze they sedated heart, so I used my name as excuse to die, a perpetual never ending cry out for
MORE MORE MORE
Make yourself a living sore on the heart of yours so that you can be, so safely chained to me, addiction, you see is my maker, my taker, my soul breaker.
I love you so, baby please don’t go. I need you so… I need you please, I am kneeling on bent KNEES GET ON YOUR KNEES HONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY CASH CASH CASH PLEASE
I GET PAID WITH SOUL DISSECTION I GET PAID WITH VIVISECTION I BELIEVE IN RESURRECTION
Can it happen for me to, help me God, can you teach me to be more like you instead of Mary? I am sad and this is scary, common God please my soul fix?
It is already I told you this, this is Damien you fool, it’s you. You can do whatever you want to.
Start following around members of my town with a boom box that plays classical music and see how long it takes for them to punch me.
I wonder how long it would take, I would try not to make it obvious at first and then… actually I would use a phone instead.. a boombox is too heavy and outdated, and I don’t have either thing because I sold all my possessions to buy drugs anyway.
I would follow them and change the music to be the opposite of what they were doing or play thematic Jaws or Jurassic Park music while they were trying to read. I have tried all this kind of stuff before, it is how you get a really quick trip to jail and very nifty if you need a way out of the rain and free meal. They know I do that now, so they just take me to the psych ward and threaten me with thorzine.
I speak with timorous voice, I am sorry I am a coward I don’t have a choice, so lacking any courage I speak of being discouraged and propelled by the resentment of self. I am a very selfish creature, destruction of myself has been main feature, of life fated to die, trying to stab out my eyes because bravery is something I am lacking. I am prone to vicious attacking, if you know me, you see that’s armor I am stacking in loads piled high stacked up to the sky, I build fortress around my dark eyes.
I do not sleep because I am scared, I used things to keep my lids bare, not a lid on them would be, because sleep I didn’t need, I was addicted to running in fear.
Now I am different today, in a place with a door do I stay, I don’t have to run, I have learned to have fun, and banished the pain in my sore legs.
No matter what I did she would not go away,
I would taunt and have fits, and run and I’d cry and by my side she always would stay.
This used to really annoy me.
I would think to myself that she would surely,
Leave eventually so I gave up on the idea of woman go
And now I don’t like life without her.
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.
I am able to bring myself to eat without having to go through the chaos spiral of self-loathing that has powered my relationship with food. I have always, up until now I mean preferred the taste of bitter or flavorless mind-numbing soul staining poison. I think this is because of how much I used to hate myself. I am so glad, to realize how much of cycle of horror this whole thing. I really had no idea that I was drinking/using to forget what I did to drink and use to forget.
I don’t think my wife feels the same about herself, because she was just a silent passenger, and doing what she had to in order to stay well. I was the one behind all the ****. I know this now. I didn’t know it before, I remember telling her I would stop if she did, thinking she wouldn’t notice my absence or my perpetual love of long sleeves.
It sort of feels like this is the first time I have ever been a human being in my entire chaotic life, and I know I have said it before, but a lot of that comes from the interaction on here. I have never been treated so kindly in my entire life by strangers. I hate to say that my family had always been there, but they had, me and Amanda are the same person, just in two separate universes for the moment, getting closer to being the same one though, every day.
It means the world to me, as I came on this site very aggressively having a public hissy fit over how a world that I did not accept would not accept me, which was all just me trying to avoid accountability for the fact that I had ruined my own life by wasting it on deviant behavior to acquire things that no one needs and were never worth the lives cost on the streets of madness. If nothing else, I can say I have learned my lesson, and that I will try my hardest to not mess this up, and even if I do. I am changed. I will never look at drugs or alcohol the same again, and I am not a first time winner, this is my thousandth time swearing I would do it after repeated foxhole prayers to a God, sorry I am Catholic, no offense meant, believe whatever you want, the shame guilt thing is good for my ***.
I am feeling a lot better, and though I know I am going to rage flip out and cycle through denial and rage, I want anyone reading this to know, any of the things that people have said, out of kindness to a screaming madman, stuck with me and continues to change my life in ways I did not think possible.
I owe all of you everything I have, and I only have this way of thanking you.
I just had an intensely spiritual experience. It was brought to my attention, I am not going to get into the dirty details of how, that I say concerning things and worry people. I forget that people worry about me as a result of my speech, because I am not very present a lot of the time when I am around other people. I am trying to learn to be, but I have never been very mentally aware of the existence of other people on a continuous basis. It always made me uncomfortable to have anything like continuity in human relationships and I forget a lot of the time, that I am the one who is different than other people not the other way around.
I was reminded by this person today, that if I am going to keep trying to change myself that my actions need to factor in the effect that I am having on other human beings. I am working on some kind of compromise between this an emotional honesty, because I have always been unable to see the existence of shades of grey. I am blind to something that is not black or white because I am so focused on selfish pursuits, I tunnel vision look at things, and miss the grey entirely. I think this may be one of the reasons I have always been so alone, and I am working on trying to change that, but it is hard.
I have never seen anyone as more than a coin purse, or punching bag, free meal or dispenser for whatever I wanted to feel. I think I have treated everything like a drug, and that is not fair to anyone, even me.
I threw a pair of hands out of a hot air balloon. It was one of the strangest things I had ever seen. I do not know how I got in the hot air balloon, as I had been up for several days, but Diane was with me, and did not know I had the hands in my backpack. I did not either, which is strange because they smelled disgusting. I threw them out while Diane was not looking.
I found this weird graphic of this rainbow man on the computer this morning. I am thinking this is who the hands belonged to, and maybe I got the idea from his hands being up in the air in the photograph that is above. I still have to figure out if it is Diane’s balloon or not. I want to use it again. It was an excellent and anonymous way to get rid of something.
We have met others who do what we do, I am studying it as a phenomenon now, they have some sort of ability that involves the manipulation of human beings and the universe. They are all addicts, and I do not know if that is that stupid you associate with those like you crap, or if they are like us because there is something about being an addict that causes us to be able to do this. I feel like I have mentioned this before, but I do not know for sure, because admittedly my memory sucks, and I do not like to admit I have any weakness at all.
I have a hard time making assessments of the reality of what I see because of this, I, in my admitted arrogance, believed and still believe in my ability to manipulate space and time with my hands, that is one of the reasons I take life, aside from being prone to lashing out in fits of rage. I am embarrassed even writing this to you, my unknown observer. I do not like being the kind of person who talks to people, and wonder sometimes if that means I do not like being a human being. I sometimes doubt even that, that I am human at all.
I do not know what that means… I do not know what it means to not believe in my own human body. I guess it just means that I am everything they always said I was, and that for some reason in my wretched existence, I am pathetic enough to not… I am going to stop… I can’t stand hearing myself talk, even if it is out loud while typing to you or sometimes in the ranting chaos that is my own mind.