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 am always waiting, anticipating, was supposed to be mating, but he is gone, and now I sing on and on, a swan’s song, of he is gone.
My name is Sara, and I am just a bird, a woman, another word. I loved a man whose name I cannot remember, I met him at the end of September. My eyes are dark like my past, painted not with sadness, just with lack, something is missing, and my soul cannot relax, I am waiting till he comes back.
I don’t remember who he was, just know my sadness at morning doves, they remind me of something I long forgot, now my mind is sad and my eyes are hot. I wonder if he will ever be, more than a swan song sung to me.
I am alone in the woods, on a path, in the middle of the night.
It is around three in the morning. I am guessing, there is a complete blackness to the sky, and silence that suggests the birds are still sleeping.
Looking up at the sky, I wonder if anyone, or anything is awake yet, if there is another animal that is like me and drawn to frantic pacing at this time, somewhere anywhere.
I listen for any noise that would hint of any kind of life at all, but there is nothing, there is an absence to the air, that suggests lack.
I breathe and feel like sound is missing from the universe, unsure if there is something wrong with my ears, if I have lost my mind completely, if I am tripping myself out, what it even means to hear at all.
I cough. I can hear myself. There is sound.
Looking up at the sky, I trace the existence of me, as something separate from the night, I can feel my hands, they hurt. The coldness of night bites into them with every movement, a slicing that feels like sharp needles, sticking into them with every movement.
I cough again, and can hear the sound, radiating into the echoing darkness.
I sigh. I am relieved to have released that in this all consuming starkness of light, I am still separate, able to feel myself, as an entity which exists in a universe of parts.
It is very dark. I can see nothing in front of me. The moon is absent from the sky, and there are no stars, blinking, I think I am crying. I am not sure. I don’t remember what that feels like, or how long I have been standing here, and cannot tell if I am looking down or up.
Moving my neck, I figure out I am staring up.
I blink my eyes. Nothing.
I am still shrouded in the all consuming darkness.
It is very cold, the cold has spread from my hands to the rest of my body, feeling like a bitter aching, hurting like sharp knives with each movement, but without the sound of reassuring wind, that makes me aware of passing storms.
I am not sure if this bitter cold, if it is something characteristic of the season, or of it is something I am feeling in this spot, right now that is very much specific to me.
The mist ascends over the river in the dark light absent night of a missing moon, that is not missed, simply missing, a vacant blankness with no space indicated that marks its blankness, no spot where a moon would even be, a blank canvas of lack of light.
I am standing staring out over the water, knowing only that there is even water there, because I am familiar with the place I am. Other than my presence of mind and awareness of where I am placed in time, there is no indicating factors that would suggest that I am anywhere at all, the night is black and I see nothing in front of me, and nothing below me.
I stare forward into the nothingness, keeping my presence of mind, by meditating on the painful cold that pounds in my skin, the rain is falling down on my hands and arms now, I say it that way.. because they are bare, I can’t feel it touch the rest of me.
I look out over the water, the only thing letting me know there is any separation between me and any of this, any perceiving instead of being oneness, is the fact that I remember being a being that sees.
There are slight beings of light on the water now, they dance in the nothing, looking like shadows, which is strange, because there is nothing to cast shadow on, they are dark, as dark as shadow and reflecting to my eyes or to my knowing, not sure which, and they speak to me, somehow I know them, I know their pain. They pace across the water saying nothing, and I can feel their pain, and then, it all fades, a light comes on, and I look up at a street light, there must have been a power outage.
A man is sitting on a bench alone, he asks me how long I have been there, says he didn’t know there was someone else watching, like him, the dancing on the water. I tell him I don’t know, and we leave it at that. He walks away.
I swear this is not some sort of camera trick, this is what I just saw when I was hearing my daughter move around the room and did not see anyone, and I swear I am losing it. You see that right? I know camera trick… but no…. I went into the room and no person there, she was not supposed to be home, and yet I saw her in the room in the mirror. I swear, and it has all started since that weird party, like before that she was doing the same kind of stuff that I do, but I don’t completely disappear, or at least I don’t think I do. The thing that sucks about the whole thing is I have no idea if it is just me being insane or not. I can’t ask anyone because they will think I am insane.. so I am left to wonder, what the…….
I am thinking it has something to do with the rest of all this, so I will get back to you on all of it… but for now… what the hell….
More eerie, the text on the top of the graphic that is what I have been hearing in my head, or seeing, whatever, as read out letters or visual letters whenever I look at her. Doesn’t sound good.
I am keeping it to myself for the second. The most eerie thing, was the color in the mirror the weird blue light around her, not like the picture, just a ghostly aura, around her.
in a house that wears clothes that are an indication of no good.. that is the first thing that came to mind when I sat down here. I am sorry give me, oh right…. you can’t see me.
I found a pair of clothing and a golden necklace in the warehouse I have been staying in. I am not sure who put them there, and from what I remember I was there all morning, and Diane is missing. I do not think she is the owner of the necklace, and I insist with viole…everything in my being, that this is not being typed on here as a way to process some kind of guilt about having killed Diane, I do not kill any woman I love. I did not kill Rei. She overdosed, and while I may have through my own foolish insistence to keep using not done anything to stop her, I couldn’t have stopped her from doing that shot because I wasn’t there, any dreams or feelings that I had that, made me think anything other than that, are complete horse shit.
I am telling you this is different. I know this is different. I can feel it. I know this is different, that there is some reason this is different. I have this eerie feeling, that I am supposed to do something to figure this out, that somehow, something about me drew me to Diane and it has something to do with this.
We scream for ice-cream. We scream at the faces of the damned, the faces of man pleading and begging for things we are letting them eat till they die, in hell with closed eye, they live waking life riddled with strive, and try with all power to do nothing but devour, every minute consume, every second a tomb is not dug because we flesh of man, we do what we can to make loved ones disappear, we are the universe presenting fear, we are the devil’s lived appearance, we are the idea of occurring loss, we are the idea of cost, we are live down the drain, we are man’s brought pain, we are the human stain.
We are DISDAIN.
D I S D A I N
d i s d a i n
I add sin!
I add sin!
I am contempt that comes from within. I am wrath. I am rage. I contempt’s cage.
I am the is not.
I am s-i-n.
I am the will not be. I am not free. I am the churning of death wrought. I am death sought.