Do you see?

I am staring at a mirror, and seeing something that most people would argue is not there, and having a conversation, that most people would argue is with no one, but it is someone I know very well, who is not myself.

She tells me she loves me, and asks me to follow her, she is an idiot. I cannot walk through glass, well not in this way anyway, I can walk on it, not through it. I tell her this and she tells me

“If you step on me, you will surely die”.

I am aware of the problems that come with stepping on shattered glass with two feet, thank you for the reminder.

I come closer, and she kisses me, and my mouth starts bleeding, but she tastes good, like lavender and vanilla.

I walk out of the room, and hear a crash, I go back in the room and the mirror is broken.

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What happened, my sweet angel.

I heard the door slam. I don’t think I did it, my step dad, he says it was the wind. I think it might have been me. My mother says they were fighting.

I was fighting with Diane at the same time.

You were? Why?

Because she is still getting high, and she was pissing me off, she was accusing me of still getting high, while she was high as Hell. I have been clean and sober as long as you.

I know, loser, I am you.

I know you know that, I just forget sometimes. I think she is trying to drive me insane.

I think you are trying to drive you insane, as a justification to get high.

I think… I think that is probably correct.

Apparently, and I knew this, but I did not know how bad it was. My memories have become so disjointed from the reality that is experienced by other people, they are no longer trustworthy enough to be considered anything more than a continuous dream state, and I do not know if this is fixable…. I am assuming that it might get better with time, but I am not sure, and I am not sure I care at this point.

I do not know if I should care, or if it is better to just accept the fact that I am untrustworthy narrator of my own life, and that everything I believe is suspect.

I think I am alright enough with that, it is what it is, and I think it is better for it just to be accepted that way, then to try to fight for dominance with a universe, that I no longer exist in or see eye to eye with.

I wonder, and this is the reason for this post, if there is any validity to my reality at all? I wonder if my reality or the reality of the insane exists alongside the reality of most, and if we just notice different things, because that would be a lot nicer, than to think that my whole conception of the world is fictitious.

I am okay with either one, I guess.. because I have to be.

Oh, well. Life goes on.

Getting my own place, and moving on with everything I mean. I am realizing how much worse this whole thing has made me, and thinking that having a place where I can be alone would be good. I think the paranoia will get a lot better, if I am alone. Which is funny because I think that this something the universe was trying to tell me and I wasn’t listening. I think that this is why I have gotten as bad as I have, because I am pretty insane right now, or I think I am… in comparison to how I used to be.

I just talked to my family about getting an attorney to handle a disability claim I have going on, because I am very good at losing jobs, over and over and over. I have had a lot of them, but I lose every single one for one reason or another. Usually because some paranoid delusion justifies me not showing up or being drunk or high when I show up because I am afraid and use or drink because I am afraid.

It really helped me to talk to my family about all of this, I feel less like a pacing lunatic now, at least I know the whole world is not out to get me now.

Oh, now you can’t talk suddenly, well good, at least this helps clarify what the *** is going on here. Leave me alone, **** it.

I need to get on my medication.

What now? I wrote down your stupid thing you were saying at me **** it.

You are always alone.

I am trapped in my own head.

I know, I am working on it… wait why am I still typing to you, get the **** out of my head.

See there was nothing to save, I was right, you were wrong, and you saved yourself from watching me slowly rip myself into a thousand pieces. I didn’t want to do anything with my **** life anyway.

I am getting better, and I don’t need you, anyway. I can do this without your help, because you never understood… I kept saying over and over I am done, and you would want to go out and have a drink with me. I can’t ****ing do that responsibly, and I told you that. OVER and OVER and OVER
and you insisted you could teach me how to drink the right way????

I don’t want to drink anymore **** it. I am doing this now, and you are still saying you are worried about me, and you are still using????? HOW AM I THE BAD PERSON????? STOP CALLING ME.

THIS happened two weeks ago, de Soto.

No one calls you anymore.

That is not true, I have friends…. just not her. Just not her.

https://wordpress.com/read/blogs/128784227/posts/81586

How many hours a day would you estimate you spent on your blog, including writing, reading, and commenting? If you didn’t blog, what would you do with the time you currently spend on your blog?

You are asking me how I item-ize my time. How long do I spend on here? Why? There is no distinction between the things that I do during the day. I do not have the ability to space things individually. In other words, I do not know and this question makes me uncomfortable.

If I didn’t blog, I would be doing the same thing I do on here, out loud outside. I talk to myself on here, because I have something wrong with me, and I don’t have an inner monologue. The things I think come out of my mouth, unless I am writing, then I get some sort of semblance of peace for a second, because the things I think about, which are often unorganized fear driven nightmares, are projected onto this screen instead.

I write on here, so that I don’t walk around my house talking to myself anymore. If I didn’t write on here, I would walk around somewhere talking to myself, all day, every day, on repeat for the rest of my **** life.

It does not get better if I quit doing anything. This is my life un-medicated forever.

Which is why I need to get back on medication, which I am going to do. Soon.

https://wordpress.com/tag/dailyprompt-1838

How does death change your perspective?

My perspective is dead itself, or the idea that I have the ability to even have perspective is dead. It died for me when I was eight years old, when I realized I do not live in reality.

Block of Wood

You happened a long time ago, and every day, because you are a metaphor for mental decay.

I am staring at a block of wood, I do not know how I came to be staring at a block of wood, I do not have any knowledge of how long I have been standing here, I do not know what time I started staring at the block of wood, or where it is placed in the universe, or if I am even in the universe at all right now. I am simply staring at a block of wood in the dark, and can’t tell what time it is. It is that rare time of day or night when it is indistinguishable whether it is in fact day or night. I am not sure, I have no perspective anymore. I long ago gave that up because I am constant propelled into a reality that I am not sure of the reality of, so I relate to nothing, which means I have no perspective. This is beginning to change, but goes right back when this happens, and I have to fight my way out of the dark cavern that is the Hell of my mind.

I do not know why I was staring at the block of wood. I just know that I swear, I swear on everything in me, that I began to see the atoms if I focused enough, that made up the wood itself. I know I am insane, that this is all just hallucination, and indication that I am doing something right, because my mind does this to me whenever I make any sort of progress, sends me forwards, backwards, longways, short ways, and to a position of staring at a block of wood and wondering if I can communicate with my cat better orally or through telepathy.

https://bluebonnetprompts.wordpress.com/2022/08/21/177/#jp-carousel-180

I am standing at the window, staring outside, and I see something strange.

I am drawn to it, and do not know why. It is a light in the distance, a blue light.

The light flickers on and off, in a strange pattern. It flickers three times, and seems to change when I stare at it.

I stare at it.

It switches on and of three times, separated my 30 seconds each time. This has been going on all night, I noticed it when I got up to go see what my cat was doing, he made a noise and stood by the door, and appeared to be transfixed by this light as well. We stood staring at it, sometimes I think my cat can hear what I think… I looked down at him to see what he thought. He looked back at me, making eye contact with me, three times. We would look at the light, watch it do its thing, and then make eye contact, until the whole thing had happened nine times.

I asked my cat what he thought about it, and he replied, it is taunts me.

I thought back to him, and he replied audibly this time. Taunt. It is taunting me. I am not sure whether he thought this because he was a cat, or because the light itself is taunting us. It stopped about 15 minutes ago. I don’t know if any of this was real.

Today is going to be strange.

https://sammiscribbles.wordpress.com/2023/03/25/weekend-writing-prompt-304-mail/

I turn on my computer, and open a word file, got mail from myself.

YOU SUCK, and I hope you die.

Schizophrenic email is awesome, so glad I opened it.

I don’t know why, but night time makes me want to cry. The loneliness is so intense it radiates through my whole body, feeling like they cut out a vital organ, which is sad because the only vitality I provided you was not vital at all, but fatal, and I done with being a malady, parody and obscene joke that is just your ticket to free toke, poke, or smoke. I hate you so much because you call me all the time, and I never answer and it has been a year and I still wish I could answer, and you would be who I thought you were, and not the soul sucking drug addict leech that cared more about getting high than going with me to the hospital, so you told me my hand wasn’t that bad and I trusted you and now I am missing half my right thumb and I am right handed.. and it kills me, because I have to see it every time I write… and you knew that.. so stop calling about the type writer..

I feel like crying..

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I am listening to swan lake, which I love because apparently, you make everything about you ****.

I hate you, I love swans, and swan lake, and this song, and I want you gone, out of my head, I want you….

Stop it. Stop it.

You are not that, think of the cat. Think of the cat. Remember what your friend said. Think of the **** cat.

**** his cats.

Oh, so this is about him too now?

It is about all them………..

It’s all for you, Damien.

SCREW YOU. I am not that. I am not that. I am not that.

That was mean. That was mean……

Leave me alone. Leave me alone.

You are alone. You are always alone.

With me.

I hate you.

I hate you. I hate you.

Love yourself, dude.

Okay.

Okay.

Okay.

Okay.

I am so sorry.

Love yourself.

Please stop.

Okay, I am done.

I feel better.

I am done.

It was this guy ranting about how prison doesn’t sound that bad

1. Free food
2. Free TV
3. Free tablets
4. Free internet
5. Free place to live

I thought it was hilarious, but then was immediately grasped at the neck by anxiety and asked her why she was showing it to me.

I hate being schizophrenic, I have done nothing that would cause me to worry about this, but that is my instant reaction. I hate being insane. I didn’t snap at her. Small steps.

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.

What is your middle name? Does it carry any special meaning/significance?
De- it means of.

I will not give out my real name, because as I have said many a time I am insane, and it doesn’t matter anyway. I am changing it so I can stay me, and not DIE because I should have been born a guy, and instead of trying to take out another eye, I have two don’t worry, I am not good at surgery in a hurry, I fail at everything I do, and am a chicken a coup, look at me I made you soup.

Question, answer me,

No, oh baby I love you so, who do you speak to lunatic?

Fire of hearts desire to live, I am my own heart’s kid

Kidding me, that is the epitome of narcissism?

I know, baby you know this, just gotta love myself to avoid

Kiss of death, death

Dragon breath, my name is a riddle and a lie, a puzzle piece in the heat of July, a piece of past that makes me

Die, die, die

Roll me please? I am in dungeon and would like to spend these?

They are spare change, they buy me soul, they buy me parts that rebuild hole sole? They make me learn how to spell it too, so I can learn to say to

My name is Damien de Soto. Today, forever, my other names are broken, and irrelevant.