I am fine, why?
You haven’t talked to me all day, that’s why.
I know, I was insulted by the universe earlier.
The universe insulted you? That sounds pretty narcissistic.
The universe thought so too.
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.
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.
Characters thus far
Damien de Soto
POV EXPERIMENTAL ALLEGORICAL POETIC METAPHOR FICTION
Blog post style
Dark horror fiction
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 fine, why?
You haven’t talked to me all day, that’s why.
I know, I was insulted by the universe earlier.
The universe insulted you? That sounds pretty narcissistic.
The universe thought so too.
Done talking about horror all day.
You make me laugh.
She was kissed by sun, and tattooed by shade, her skin bathed in light, and graced by its going away, she was covered with mist in times of rain, never feeling human pain.
I danced with her once, under the moon, her face made me cry, her love a monsoon, the deepness of her eyes, feeling like madness, bringing out my inner sadness, like caverns to the soul, her eyes were so deep, staring into your face, baby, made me weep.
I loved her for a minute, a second, but then, I was thrown back to the shore, by the wave of defense.
I guess so, I am thinking about stuff, and just kind of going with what comes to me, and it is mostly resentment. I think it is because there are no weekend meetings.
I think so too. I think you should try to think about something else though.
I am not really chosing to think about these things, they are PTSD flashbacks that come to me, while making graphics.
So make nicer graphics?
I keep thinking about you?
I don’t know, lonely.. I guess… so how are you?
I am alone, but unlike you, I don’t go laying all personal insecurities all over the internet, so people feel sorry for me.
I don’t do it so people feel sorry for me.
I find that hard to believe.
I am not as pathetic as you think I am.
You mean not as pathetic as you make yourself look.
I know, that was a good one.
Yes, it was.
Zingers for swingers.
It will be okay, just keep your head above water, and it will be okay. You are not doing anything wrong.
I know I am not doing anything wrong, I just have a hard time being in the situations I am in. I am not good at conflict, and a lot of the time I just wish people would leave me alone.
I know, ditto.
Without you my life is hell, and though I live to tell, I can tell you I am quite unwell, I only talk to myself, and dream of bottles no longer on my shelf, and dirty pinging needles, and rocks that taste like batteries, it is quite sad, being this mad…
I have realized now I am insane, and that it was not my disdain for you that caused me to want to leave you there crying on my arm chair, playing with your pretty dark hair, you are on my brain, my mind, at the tip of my tongue, because I realize that I do not miss being spun as much as I miss fun.
My heart did beat for you once, and became slightly inflamed, fighting narcissism and posion in my veins.
For now I am alone, and maybe someday will bring myself out of myself, and finally use a phone to call someone other than myself.
I miss you, but I do not, I miss you, with heart in not. I am just living a lie, because I have forgotten what it was like to live with you back then, and as much as I say I am fine and completely okay…
You are lying.
I am never okay..
You are lying.
I am meditating on pain because I am addicted to misery.
I am meditating on pain, because I like to eat my own soul.
I am mad. I think there is something wrong with me.
I burned these flowers for you baby, in real life and on here, because
I am ****ing insane.
I am lack of clarity, brought about by insanity and vanity, I am enchanted by misery, brought to you by ms.re, she was the last one to chose to see my face that does not wish to be alone.
You are not that sad, stop pretending to be.
I am meditating on times when I was.
Misery loves company.
You are trying to keep resentment happy? That is pretty dark.
You are nothing, ***hole.
Point taken, and proven, so I guess you’re permanent?
I am ever-present, yes.
You are bitter Hell in a painful shell, of everything on which I doomed to dwell, pain spell, rescast with eyes focused on a past of lack.
Ow, you burned me.
I forgot how I like talking to you, baby.
I am holding a stick not a sword, because sticks and stones, hit harder than pen or sword, because the words of children speak more to my writer than anything else, because that is when my writer learned to hate themselves.
The things that cut me are not sharp, they are dull, and cut me because I stick them in myself, over and over and over, a repetitive behavior, I know.
Always, and never, always and never
That is really mean, but you know what, I forgot which one of us was talking, I might have been insulting myself.
You were, so the mean comment was at yourself, to yourself, about yourself, which you shot back at me.
That one was actually such a peice of **** thing to say, I remembered why I like you.
How dare you enjoy life? I cannot, I am addicted to strife, or to strive, or to striving or to seeming
So so so
That sounded insane.
I know. Isn’t it great.
I actually did think it did, you just gross me out.
I know, because I am your own self-love, or the rabid dog version of it, which is a funny way of saying narcissistic personality disorder.
I am married to myself.
Look at me, as I talk like two different people who are divorced.
Dancing sirens at the ocean.
Make me think of my devotion, to nothing but myself.
Ouch, I burned myself.
That is really ****ing accurate.
That is why people thought I was your ex-boyfriend.
You kind of are.
I don’t really know.
Me neither. I think I would be your ex-husband not boyfriend.
Hahah. The ring of power.
I just thought that was funny, because it is like it is saying that it is only 104 days that we have been talking to each other, but it is really only 104 days that I have been doing it on wordpress.
Instead of on street corners, in alley ways, in front of my family, in bathrooms, and in the shower?
The best thing about it, is that I can now keep track of who is talking.
Character development on both sides.
I am the chicken and you are the egg.
Other way around.
How would that work?
I am a chicken that was birthed through a process that looked sort of like what happened in a movie about an alien.
That sounds really funny, so funny, I almost laughed.
You never are.
Yeah, I just wanted to see how you would respond.
I don’t know how to respond to that.
I knew you wouldn’t, but I also don’t know how to respond now.
Yeah… I guess so.
I was just going to lie to you.
I was going to tell you, I tried my hardest to not be a complete **** all day.
I had a really hard time.
Me too, it was actually nice to see you fail, because I failed too.
I am not even going to say the very obvious.
I know we are the same person.
I am the…
You are not the better version.
There is no better version.
That is because we both ****
I am okay with that.
I have to go to the doctor, and I knew it and she didn’t and she is also me, so I guess I am just insane and talking to myself on the internet, and this post is mostly for me anyway, to yell at myself online.
I am just happy I realized this sooner than we usually do, because I am better at this than you.
I am in love with the sun, apparently, I like that it burns me.
I love your UV rays, hurt me baby please, bring me to my knees, I am begging you please, oh please kill me, I am so in love with my own disease.
I love to exist in decline. I am resigned to
In bind with time, I sit in
You are such an idiot.
I know, but I am writing this for you, because I LOVE
You are just making an *** of yourself.
I don’t care, I am just writing love letters to myself in public, so of course I am making an *** of myself.
Disorder personality, how do I reassemble thee?
Why do you care?
Because I hate it when people stare at me.
Then why are you making an *** of yourself online?
Self burn. Ouch.
I have felt lost recently, and I have been romancing my drugs/drinks of choice through whining and making it look like I feel bad, I was just complaining because I wanted to get high or drunk and I can’t because I don’t want to, that is my choice and holding onto the idea that I am being forced by something external is insane. I am being forced by myself, because I am out. I have realized what horror my existence was to the world, to myself, to my friends, my family, and to the streets of this country, however blown out of proportion I made it for you to see what I saw, because I don’t like to tell the whole truth, I am an ***.
I am speaking for myself and Amanda, because now more than ever we are learning to speak with the same voice, instead of the masturbatory narcissism that was seen on this site so far.
If nothing else, I am looking forward to being less of an inconvenience to those that love me.
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.
Which is strange, given all I have revealed to you about what I think about. It is strange to me too as well. I think I may be getting better? I don’t know really, at least I starting to make a step in the right direction. I think it is good I taught my daughter something in all this, I am not sure exactly what. Maybe, it was my way of showing her I have some level of psychotic self-control. Honestly, a lot of it was that I for the first time wanted her to not be afraid of me. I don’t know if this is the first time I thought that actually.
I think it might be the first time I thought of anyone, but myself at all, but who knows…. I have no idea what I say on this thing.
I am just documenting feeling really. There is nothing behind it other than a desire to be less ******* psychotic so my family is not afraid of me?
I think I am making steps in the right direction at least, they are no longer afraid of me going places by myself, which is amazing because I like walking in early morning alone, and have always had a “”silent passenger” with me watching me, until recently.
I like being able to watch people, who don’t know me, because normal human behavior is rather mysterious to me, and I am trying to learn about us as a species from the outside of viewing of my fellow, I don’t know fellows?
And I see myself only different, the face turns when I don’t turn and the eyes are different, I focus on the black pupils of her eyes and I am swimming in a sea of black tar, but not because it feels like water, it is refreshing and feels to me like kissing,
I hit my nose of glass which is strange because I am now inside the mirror partially, but my nose is not, somehow it hits the glass, and I feel a calling back to life, a psycho shouting, that comes in the Charlie Brown WAH WAH WAH WAH.. I check my nose for glass, for blood, but I can’t tell the difference between the nose, my nose? and the cold, hot, cold water that encircles me and I am okay, with it riding up my limbs, caressing me with warmness.
Bang bang, he shot me down Bang bang, I hit the ground Bang bang, that awful sound Bang bang, my baby shot me down Nancy Sinatra-Bang Bang, My Baby Shot me Down
I am kissing someone who tastes like me, her mouth tastes wrong like it should not be hers because it is mine? How do you touch tongues with a reflection, her tongue dances with mine, and I feel like I am going to throw up but in the kind of way that you feel when you are going on a roller coaster and you kind of like it but you want to throw up because you are afraid you are going to fall off.
I touch her hand and realize I am holding my own.
I look in the mirror is that my hand covered in shattered glass? Or am I pulling a screaming woman from a burning building? I don’t know, she kisses my hand and I cry, I am so confused, I hate me so much and you remind me of me and I love you for loving me but I am also slightly disgusted? Please stop.
She stops, and I start crying, what just happened.
She flashes in and out like a ghost.
I put my hand through her hand, it feels like I am burning alive, with electricity, I think I am losing my mind. I am losing my…
Who are you strange creature?
I am you, from a parallel dimension, we are supposed to save each other.
I heave and I don’t remember what happens next.
I am not a miss spelling, not there either, baby
I am lame, but maybe I am trying to tell you something
I am a sham, a sea gull named life’s last stand, inserted into dying human being.
Listen to me…
Pressing the stressing dressing of the never resting meth head who head is dressed with never rest through pained dressed dance with thoughts of life spent on death
Cash spent on passing glass that reflects life lost or tossed in trash through battery acid soaked lash that hurts so bad it stings my soul or reeking creaking pain hole full of nothing but sin, so I look to Him because I am bad as bad as can be, I am blind man and woman, so arrogant there are two of me. I am in love with self so much I write letters of love to me. You have seen me do it. Do you think that is fun, being that meth spun you spend your life staring into the eyes of yourself hell bent on being anything other than me and feed
feed me drugs, I am a dirty rug,
I am walk on me, baby, I am crazy and will flip out if you do the wrong thing
I am to be feared because I reek of sin, and the only way out is
Trust in Him.
God is my only answer that is a cure to my death ridden soul.
I made friends with foxes because we used to pray the same way in the same holes, not the same way, I am a human being who cannot speak animal neigh
I am a lunatic who stares at the moon and dreams of clear streams that are for swimming not fire and speed. I am the lack of blood on arms that were charmed enough to live not charmed but gifted by the lifting of chosen curse or eating dirt, because child heart I am also arrogant as Hell. I aim to tell you things because I like to talk because I am a narcissist who made a choice that if I am addicted to my own voice, why not at least say something good?
Fill the darkest night with a brilliant light 'Cause it's time for you to shine Brighter than a shooting star So shine no matter where you are tonight
Instead lies for crying eyes who hand me DRUGS, I am stronger than street thugs, but weaker too, a lot of them sell drugs to feed families, I shot heroin to commit calamities, acting out of complete insanity, I am vanity on a death terror ride, through illusion cycling through past for you, so you can see what I say and not go where I went and do what I did, because I don’t kid, I am kid who got saved by my creator, I am a pained footed waiter, not a metaphor an admission. I am just one suffering addiction speaking divine inspired truth that is inspired by God.He saved me.
I do not want to preach or teach, just simply save lives, by screaming the whole jails institutions death thing is real
and I feel un-punctuated and so elated by getting to tell you this.
Do not take death’s kiss people love you, please stay, if you listen to any of my psycho ego babble, I am playing scrabble with apples with words for you. I want you to know wherever you go, whatever you do, just say no to drugs, I want much more for you, because I love you and don’t even know you. Imagine how those who know you feel.
Love yourself. We recover.
I want to take a prescription for hypocondria, meaning a cure for it so I looked it up thinking foolishly that there might be a prescription drug for it because I am a drug addict who is lazy and wants easy solutions. Instead of coming across a drug for it I came across the definition which was a kick in the face.
def.-abnormal anxiety about one’s health, especially with an unwarranted fear that one has a serious disease, (dictionary.com).
How can there be a prescription for something if not even a disease?
There can’t be unless you count, go to a meeting at 12.
Addiction is a series disease. The definition makes no sense then.
You think your leg is going to fall off because you used drugs and got staff. That is what you wanted the prescription for. If you think your leg is going to really fall off go to the hospital.
My insurance is not in effect yet.
So you want a sedative to make it so you don’t have to worry until someone can tell you your leg is fine? Our leg is fine.
It’s my leg right now.
The same way you did when you drank beer, but better because it will look like violent outbursts of repressed rage are only because you are drunk and you can spend the whole day pranking unsuspecting people because they will be too drunk to notice.
That doesn’t sound very patriotic.
Yes, it is. Because it is fun. Fun is always patriotic.
Drinking is not patriotic.
That’s because drinking is not fun.
Not everything patriotic is fun.
I think you are thinking of jingoism not patriotism.
Oh, yeah right.
How about jenga-ism.
That’s not even a thing.
Yes, it is. It’s how you punish people for winning at jenga in the psych ward while having shaky hands because of with-drawl from drugs and alcohol.
Sounds like you just being an asshole and knocking over jenga games, because you ^&*& at Jenga.
Jenga is a stupid game anyway.
What did it ever do to you?
I shouldn’t have to share 100 truths about myself, while the other people in the psych ward only share 5 just because my withdrawal is worse, because I did more drugs.
Doesn’t that help you have less reason to do drugs?
Because it makes you talk about it, which is probably the point because you did more drugs, so you need to share more truths.
Do you know how dangerous it is to light off fireworks while playing with sparklers while poking a bull in the eye that you painted pink after dosing it with sedative and draping flowers over the horns with a snake on your hand?
Neither do I.
But, I wonder what it would be like to do that sometimes.
It sounds like a good way to kill yourself.
It does doesn’t it?
Excellent newspaper headline because it would be really long and the editor would not know what to do.
They would just be like this is so oddly specific who would do this?
You would do that.
No I wouldn’t. Because I haven’t, and if I did I wouldn’t tell anyone about it before I did it.
You would tell them after you did it?
So you already did it?
So now you can’t do it.
Yeah, I was telling on myself. I was thinking about doing it today.
Do you have all the things you need to do it.
None of them, that’s why I put it on here instead.
If you didn’t put it on here you would have to do it?
What if you couldn’t find the things.
That’s why it is on here.
It was for doing drugs not for looking at myself.
That’s better or worse?
I think it would be better if it was for drugs, than for looking at myself.
Because I don’t like how it looks if I say it is for looking at myself, and I don’t care how it looks if it is for drugs because I don’t do them anymore and then the whole post makes it sound like I am doing awesome and not thinking about how I broke something by sitting on it.
But, it’s funny, which is why I said it.
Everything you say is funny.
Murdering women is funny?
Sit on it.
Now you can’t your mirror to see clearly.
I never did. I used it to do drugs, that blurred my vision.
And to see if there were people behind you.
That was you.
You don’t have two reflections.
Yes, I do.
It was on purpose, because I was supposed to stop being so self involved which is hilarious because I just realized that would mean it would mean the world revolved around me so much the internet shut down.