Tag: lying
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Minty What is your career plan?
I am without a dream, my dream died long ago, I mean. I had a dream or dreams once, I mean. My goal or career plan was to write anything and use money I made to pay for my life… didn’t work out to well, well the economy in America crashed, so I drank and did drugs about it.
You really think anything would have been different had you been born at a different time?
Yes, I would have been able to experience adult life before hitting rock bottom.
Okay, that makes sense, and seems true.
I am trying now to start a re-sale business, and find some way, anyway, many ways to write for petty cash.
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But, backing away, I am caught looking back at you.
I am taken back and drop my things and instantly start to start re-gathering them, while falling apart.
I am fine, I tell you, but you know I am not, you stand looking at me, while my face turns red hot.
What is your problem?
I don’t really know, and if I did, I can’t let it show, that I know the answer because I don’t want to tell you.
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She is not like you, so she is going down, I love you sweetheart and your friend would rather lay down. She stole your money, and I’ll give it back, little do you know, this is all an act. We tricked you, baby, but you don’t know. I wanted your attention and your friend did know. Now you are sitting thinking she left you here, she is buying something of which you won’t here. I covered for her, because without her, I would never have met you, and after today won’t see you again, and this I bet you, so right now, I will tell you anything you want to hear, and yes have anything you want, I have it here.
I don’t know when she will be back, she did not tell me, and yes she will be back of this I assure, I implore you please relax, your insanity and anxiety is such a tax, I love your voice honey, and love your face, I have something that I am sure will make your pain slow pace.
Okay, she is back no go away, and if you are ever in need you know where I stay.
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I love you so much
I painted with dark
I love you so much, you are the color of my heart.
Darkness, darkness, my lovely life, you are so
wonderful, so ascending, never impending, always transcending, always exploding with joy, joyous, joyous, open mouth, screaming with openness, light casting shadow on all the dark
I am darkness. I am shadow.
I am swallowed. I am gone. I am theft of night’s life. I am silent song. I am death of chaos, I am end of night long.
Death of quiet, begins a song.
Color me with madness
Color me dark
Color me with darkness
Color my heart
I am madness screaming please end joy, joy is chains to human who employs, my misery.
I am melting paint by number
I am melting paint by number and I have got yours
I am paint by number recolored because I don’t listen to instructions
She was so beautiful, she was so nice,
Surely, surely,
You must know
That all I ever wanted was to go
I ran cross country
Alone at a last
You will never find me
kiss my ***
she was so pleasant, she was a plot device, she was a tool, she was a wrench, she was wench,
I am awkward pause.
she was a whore, now forever she rests. I put her to bed, now it is said, her name was something else that I have not yet said, and surely I won’t because he reads this now, and I don’t care about him and he needs to figure that out.
Don’t be afraid of me, I don’t give that much of a **** about you, you are spineless woman beater. I am no longer the person you hit, now I am the person who doesn’t give a ****.
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What do head lights look like to those who run into them? I am a runny picture of flowers,
I wonder what your painting would look like if, it was run over and over on the side of the highway, which you hated so much, but not enough to stop spending all my cash on ___________.
I am a bird with a rapid beating heart, I am tiny, and I dart away from those, without the sight, to see me pass, without a fight. painted red like everything painted at someone, hinting at love, at passion, at everything she says she feels but running dripping colors of
Look at me, look at me, I am so badly hurt, look at me, I tell stories untold by human mouth, or loudly screamed above our **** couch..
Why is her artistic style so sad, looking like crying hands, that make me wonder what happened to this poor,
Bull**** artist, how about why do you paint flowers like you are crying over how your lover doesn’t love you, the flowers love you, and you are killing them with crying reds.
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I am sitting on a street corner, watching everyone walk by, making eye contact with people with nice clothes on, for just a second and then looking away, this being a better technique than most people’s “Can you spare any change?”……….
YOU SOUND LIKE AN ***HOLE..
Yeah..
They don’t understand we are just addicts who do not want to screw anyone over, we have to because we are slaves to our addictions, most of us feel bad about it. It perpetuates the addictions of most of us… We use and drink to be able to sleep and think because we are addicts and then we end up, or some of us do anyway, out of the street, having to panhandle, steal, lie, and some of us gain some sort of semblance of pride that comes from being good at it. I am good with words, I liked doing what I did not because I liked being a liar but because I like playing with words.
There are hundreds like me, thousands, who failed and get some sort of semblance of control from panhandling vocally, or writing clever signs, or sitting outside with a sign for 12 hours and making 200 dollars a day.
I am, by the way, an ***hole, but I am trying to change now.
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https://wordpress.com/read/blogs/57168971/posts/95094
What did the quick brown fox leap over?
A hole. He did not go in the hole. He did not sit in the hole talking to himself. He simply leaped over the hole, not even realizing it was there.
What were the Window Cleaner’s confessions?
I never clean any of the windows, I just wait for the rain.
What was The Mad Hatter’s true occupation?
My dealer.
Why did Cinderella lose her glass slipper?
I stole it.
Why do people in old TV shows and movies spend so much time sitting on their front porch?
They are waiting for Godo.
What happened to the three little pigs?
They went to the bay.
What is Air Force One?
After Air Force 1/2 and before Air Force 2.
Who brings the Easter Eggs?
The Great Pumpkin
Who was Harvey?
A man who hung out in calm fields while lying about them being dangerous because he wanted to camp alone.
What is quick silver?
Faster than slow silver.
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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.
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What makes you most anxious?
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..
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I have parents, who love me, who I abandoned to go across the country doing drugs with my ex who then tried to do things to me that are unspeakable, and are being told in allegory because, **** he tried to do things that are so **** that I dare not reveal that much about him. I have never hurt anyone just myself and speak of murder and crime as a literally and therapy tool used in allegorical repressed rage, because I hate the situation on the streets of this country and wish I had done something instead of being out there getting high with people who died, or hurt people. I have never killed anyone, hurt anyone, other than myself. I just have repressed rage at me so I made myself out to be a recovering monster, because I am, but not a violent one, not to any one else, just my own soul.
This is the reason for my anonymity.
I do not want to cause danger anymore to my family who are not Damien’s but a very normal one, who did not deserve a drug addict/alcoholic who should just have admitted they were non-binary Damien/Amanda/gender queer/schizophrenic drug addict/alcoholic the whole time, then maybe I could have a last name on this site.
Damien/Amanda.
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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.
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I just wonder which one of us typed that. I logged on here, and I don’t have memory of typing it, neither does Rei and I don’t think my daughter did, because she is not here right now. I had a feeling the thing wanted her to go to the party, because it’s addiction speaking and it likes it when people party because otherwise it whnglbwilgkigheshjegnwkgnw
I kind of like it when it does that. It’s like a hand exercise, bite me.
If you can’t tell, Amanda is becoming more integrated with me, and focusing on making changes to become me, because I rule. Sorry, that was stupid.
That is why you hear very little about her life, because like mine, she spends most of it on here writing to you. Except she doesn’t have a nuclear family.
You’re an @$$^&(@!
I know.
I am leaving now.
Okay.
In case your wonder, not you Amanda, because you are me, heh….
I am not worried about having made the wrong choice about the party, she would have gone anyway even if we said no, and now she won’t resent us for not letting her go, so she is more likely to beat the virus of the mind.
But, what do I know, I am insane.
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She is an extremely strange human being. I am beginning to wonder what is the truth about her child. I have not met the girl, and probably never will, I hope. I do not personally care to meet her. I am writing this to you, because something about the whole thing is bothering me. I do not know what.
There is a darkness to Diane that is disconcerting. I do not what it is, but it keeps me up at night and I am thinking it has something to do with this child of hers. The girl is 21 now, I think…. from what I can remember, which is convenient.
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To the stench of vomit, and realize it is lying beside my head and I am unsure of whether it was the smell or the coughing which woke me up, there is a woman next me and she is coughing. He stands over her, staring at her fascinated with her…. I hate him for a second, always fascinated with the eyes of women other than me. I punch him in the face, and he smiles, spitting blood in my face.
“Did I wake you, baby?” He says, not parting his gaze from the coughing woman, who lays on the cement below him.
“She did, I think… who is she?” I demand, a little too harshly, I realize on second thought, but I can’t draw the spoken words back into my mouth, and hear the echoes of them radiating and echoing with my embarrassment through the lonely darkness of the bridge we are underneath. He is like this bridge to me, forever bridging a gap in my mind between me and the angry man, who desires the unattainable woman. I hate him, sometimes wanting so much to be this woman, lying on the floor. I wish he would stare at me with the fascination that he gives the dying. I wish I could be enough, but I am never enough.
“Don’t worry, she will be dead soon, I am watching her die. I wanted to watch her die, slowly,” He says, in an unnerving calmness. I sometimes wonder why I am not the woman on the floor, what separates me from them, the bodies that he worships so much?
Misery Loves Their Own Company 