A lone, Alone, A lone, Alone

I miss you, person who I thought was real, but what I really miss was never real to begin with, the idea of being loved at all, ever, which was never real at all.

You were not real, you were never who I thought you were, because I was never real, not before now, so this is and has always been, all my fault, which doesn’t matter, but I keep thinking it, that I tragically hurt my own self.. I have a problem with the word feelings, I don’t like admitting I have those.

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And now this

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Please help me, everything that is above me, because I am done with being angry…

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And now this

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There is a flower, that exists somewhere, in the jungle, that I need to find, because it will cure a disease of my mind.

I don’t know what is, or what it does, just simply that it exists somewhere and that I am looking for it.

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Just deserts, just desserts, just green and yellow sickness, thick with addicted addictness

I am scared of me.

I am scared of bee.

I am scared of be.

I am afraid of one second of not being in control of my own level of pain, that is really ridiculous, that is the amount of time that I am told this will hurt, or maybe about thirty seconds, and I am not afraid of it hurting, I have a high pain tolerance… I am afraid of lack of control over it hurting…. I realized this just now…

Addiction. Addict. Addicted to control.

I am addicted to the unheld hand.

I am addicted to alone in desert land.

I am addicted to pain.

I am addicted to me.

That was dark? I am pain, okay, self. You are an ***hole.

I am green with envy

I am green with sickness

I am green

I am mean

I am coming undone

I am no fun

I am sickness

I am addict.

I relate humility and humiliation, a lot because I always did. The root words are similar, and for me, until today actually they appeared to be the same thing, forced bowing, like someone had conquered me, or something… the spirit of the Spanish Conquerer, someone said something to me about my name and that. It hurt… but so does someone saying I have brown eyes, because everything hurts my feelings.

I was listening to someone say that I have to do a fearless moral inventory, and the thing is… I don’t know what the **** that even means because for me morality has always been enforced with fear, Spanish Catholic superstition.

It is funny, I was cleaning with Diane when the spider incident happened, and she got mad, and I think it was partly because she believed the spider to not be real, and even if it wasn’t what different does it make? I saw it, so even if it was unreal or real, is it any more okay or not okay if it is or isnt? I made a loud sound because I was genuinely afraid in that moment, of something I thought I saw.

This is really annoying.

Yeah, for me too. They hurt for me too.

I am realizing I no longer care which one of us is talking.

So you stopped trying to keep track?

Me too by the way, it is so much more peaceful, haha, I almost spelled that peiceful. INSANITY.

Yeah, I would say so, or just that you can’t spell?

I can ****ing spell, better than you.

So insanity is more comfortable than inability to spell, interesting.

**** you.

I sleep in oblivion because obviously sleep must be partially that

Because I can’t remember it and that is oblivion right?

That is what is means?

Ob-liv-ion

obviously, I am a living ion.

That just popped into refutation

Def- the state of being unaware or unconscious of what is happening.

Haha. Universe slapping me in the ****ing face, arrogant ******* that I am

Oblivion

Deaf,

Hey Clearly, you hear me

Deaf?

Death?

Oblivion- the state of being unaware or unconscious of what is happening.

HISTORICAL•LAW

amnesty or pardon.

Why are you obsessed with the word ***hole?

Hmm… being dead or asleep, meaning having no power and receiving pardon or amnesty?

Sound familiar?

***hole.

Just realized I called myself my own ex-girlfriend…

Not intentional…

I feel like the decision to seek professional help is going to help me going forward. I am learning through getting to know her better that my daughter is a lot like me and I can’t bring myself to keep doing this to her, because whether or not I like it she is watching me do this to myself. I know I have a right to feel anything I want about this, but sitting on the floor wallowing in self-pity propelled by self-loathing is not the answer either. I am thinking this might actually make it possible for me to maintain some kind of progress and move on with my life.

I might be able to finally do something that way that is not so entirely self focused. I am going to make an effort to try to be less selfish in any way I can, which means I am going to have to give up on the excuse of it being just the way my brain works, because if that is true I would have to say I don’t want it to be this way and I would try to fix it anyway. I don’t want to be a source of worry for my family anymore. I want to try to be someone they can turn to, as well as someone who turns to them. I owe them that if anything.

I am so sorry for my outbursts and for making anyone watch this, if you were watching it. I forget I am not alone on here sometimes.

With love,

Damien

I find myself yelling at this computer sometimes and telling it to stop telling me what to do, because I have already gotten yelled at by Amanda’s parents or my parents heh.. for doing weird shit like yelling at inanimate objects.

Hacer means to do, which is weird because for some reason I always thought it meant to work, which speaks to my lack of understanding of Spanish which speaks to my laziness and self involved nature which highlights why doing anything is work and I yell at objects for talking to me when they are not.

Who sadly, tragically had no plan because he put his silly weak skin covered hand in the fist of sin. I am the desire to give in. I am the trimming claws of cat sent feral at you. I am failure in everything you do. I am the spinning sensation at bent knee. I am the sensation of screaming into night ‘this cannot be!’

I am I am sorry’s muttered too late

I am the sensation of wait

For pill, for spoon, for drug

I am death’s rug.

I am the ever spent cash of the street. I am the beating of feet

That comes on ground with the sensation of pound. I am the lack of sound coming from loved one lost. I am the cost.

I am paid in the clarity, given to you. I am failure in everything you do.

I am pain while you chew.

I am hell made stew.

I am the desire to do.

I have recently come to find out that Rei did not overdose, she did not kill herself, I did not kill her. She was murdered by Diane. Diane’s company has something to do with it. I do not understand what yet. I am not sure what the God is writing my story revelation has to do with any of this or if it is just madness. I am not sure about any of this. I have come to a place in my head where I am just taking things as they come and trying to find out more about this girl who says she is my daughter, why she looks so much like Diane, and if she is Diane and my daughter, which would make no sense, because it just did not happen that way. It feels good to finally know that something truly fucked up is going on and reality is breaking or something, because now I know I am not broken.

I thought it was me. I was convinced I was responsible for all this, and now I know I am not, well not all of it anyway, just my part in it, which is okay enough to me. It feels way better than thinking I am responsible for everything that happens in the whole universe….

I… hate myself. I can’t stop crying. I feel like I want to rip off my own skin. I have this horrible vibrating sensation running throughout my whole body, and I can’t stop crying. I am su.. stuck…. here……. and I… killed her…….. I….. Rei…. What am I going to do, with myself? I am just going to keep jumping from person to person, a vacuous death magnet consuming all that comes close to me, until there is nothing of me left… I wish there was nothing of me left. I just…… I am so…. lonely. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t why…… I don’t know what I wanted……why did I want……..

I am so sorry Rei. I am so sorry.

We are demons of madness, we are lovers of torture, we are have-rs of more, sir or ma’am, we kill you where you stand, we collect the hearts of those damned with addiction, we are not fiction, we are illusion, we are a writer’s conclusion that her pain was too much, we are the lovers of stuff, we are the idea of suffering, we are love buffering, we are hate, we are greed, we are death seed. We are non-love, we are the chopping off wings of dove, we are sent from below, we are the dirt, we are human show, we are the existence of decay, we are the act of to make sway.

We are desire to go away. We are the acting of crying, we are hearts dying.

IF YOU DON’T SHUT YOUR MOUTH YOU WON’T LIKE WHAT COMES NEXT!

We are the act of hexing, we are perplexing because we are a question, we are not real, we are the desire to not feel. We are the onion un-peeling. We are the takers of make. We are the act of forsake.

I shot her, baby. I shot her.