Hey diary, me again, I know it’s been a while, longer for me, but hey what’s perception right? What’s it all matter when I was in my own head anyways. Yknow every low seems to be redifined in it’s own way, a personal hell, a sucker punch that lingers longer than I’d wish, god, such a short song such a short song why can’t I feel anything I’ve been trying all day to feel and honestly every feel feels fake. It doesn’t even punch anymore…..I wish I was like…..her, yknow? She’s so sweet, she’s so stable, she’s so loved and honest. Yet she’s sharp and she plays everyone on it, stupid ditz has everyone under the impression she is that. I want to smoke so bad…..I can’t break that promise, god what am I doing splitting myself like this, dividing myself into pieces, why do I think it’ll make it easier? To chuunibyuu part of myself into some unobtainable demon goddess, like we both don’t suffer in the same way. I’m listening to the pillows, there, I said it. Was that so hard? Trying to scrape every bit of myself off of the songs I use to summon myself, god I loved that show so much, why doesn’t it feel the same? Why is my brother an utter trainwreck, my family rather, what a total clusterfuck yknow? They say he’s not even biologically there, what a disgusting rumor. I just miss things yknow? I miss freedom, i miss being me, I’m cooped up and pissed off, floating on a raft of zero dollars, I wanted breasts this year, this was supposed to be mine? I was gonna MAKE this shit mine, ughhhhhh what a drag. That’s why I’m sick, I’m here yknow? I’m right here, but I’m bot doing my goals outside of art, that’s why I’m regressing. God…….she came up again? Remember that? I probably shouldn’t refer to two different people as she, so the first she is me, a part of me. Sometimes when I’m low, weak, bored I talk to a version of myself, an alpha bitch. Is that weird? I asked my therapist and my friend and it seems like a lot of people do this. But it’s harmful because it means I’m not her? When in reality every day that passes I’m less me and more her, even this is her coping, I swear I hope this is my period. Isn’t it a bummer when your incense goes out? Anyways, back to “her” I’m gonna call her P because fuck it why be totally discrete. I was doing frustrating work on a project and searched Discord for a message only for her profile to pop up, cue thinking about her until even now. I wonder if she thinks about me, but I also know it’s bad to wish things upon others. God where am I gooing these days, where am I, where is that fresh love that used to be there? Why am I still not here…..why…..does adhd get worse in adulthood? I just….i need something, i need something because this is unbearable, please just let the thoughts wash away please I’m so tired of them, I am so tired what did I do to my brain. I need noise, I need it, I need raw existence something to rip me away. I’m gonna get earbuds and just stare at the cieling like I used to, I’m gonna go back 15 years and just be, please
Things have been much more….chaotic lately. Old friends contacted, ex-therapists called, nights where I scream ideations out loud, I think at one point I was disengaging my depression groove, now all I want is a pill that will kill who I am and stop me from caring. I hate my memories, which is funny because I repressed a few years away and yet now all I want is that. Sometimes I have this funny feeling like every two years my memory resets, like some kinda flunky robot. I had a thought the past few days about horror as a genre, usually the series are always a one night, one day survival. Yet I can’t help but wonder or be excited by the notion of a horror series that ended by exhaustion. Eventually all humans need sleep, eventually the system would be so damaged the only hope would be to collapse. Life feels like an analogue for that, not wealth or race like some movies, family and distance others, but a real unstoppable unmovable force draining you until there was nothing to give. Lately that’s how I feel, I’m finally at my Reki point and it’s beautiful. It’s cold and I don’t care, I don’t care about others at any point past them being okay. It hurts to say that, but everything i say here is melodramatic, maybe I put it out here so people can hate me. Or maybe I’m just sick overall. I know all that shits a lie, that if someone needed something I’d be there, but I’m getting tired and I just don’t want to wake up. Maybe one day I can make a song or a drawing about it, a force that overcomes a survivor.
She’s got this stimpiness, it’s in her bones, and when she looks at it she can’t see her. She never sees her yknow? Never, only glimpses true but they a fragments always always colored by the stimpiness. The eyes just can’t be kind they can’t remove themselves from the stimpiness. The words are terrible, more said, less felt. Tired. So tired. Wish I could say more
My failures are impacting others
I was so scared that now it’s too late
I’m so stupid
I’m so stupid and if I kill myself it’ll only hurt him
I can’t bear the thought
I’m so fucking stupid
Stupid fucking waste
No one gets it
I’m so stupid
Why can’t they just treat me like shit
Why can’t they just be fucking honest
Stupid stupid stupid brainless coward loner weirdo gross dumb fucking loser
Hi dear diary, it’s been a while so I’m here because the things on my mind are special and I want them to come out once again. I had another breakdown, a real bad one and now that I’m out of it I can only feel the desire to express. I sobbed painfully, heartbroken because my thoughts couldn’t make it to a screen. It’s funny that when I’m here I have zero standards for myself, outside of trying new methods, structures, rhymes, it all happens so naturally. But with art, it’s so stiff and difficult, I wonder if it’s because I’ve written for so much of my life, in so many different ways. I still miss “them” I told myself that I’m a new version of a person so it’s okay that we don’t talk anymore, but I haven’t integrated it all yet. Truthfully diary it makes me feel safe knowing I can write in public, post a link on twitter and no one talks to me about it directly, I like it a lot. I like you a lot, I like that I have maintained a positive habit for all these years and outside of the blegh WordPress backed site, it’s mine. Completely totally mine to talk, to post art, to rant to vent to just be me. Every part of me is here, my storytelling, my politics, my philosophy, my puzzle making. It’s all so wondrous and I just hope I can grow with you as I continue into the fears of adulthood, more therapy, medication, new hobbies and friends. Honestly I’m so excited for the version of me that won’t be so damaged to emerge into reality. Maybe duality is my biggest fetish. Is that weird? I don’t think that is. I wonder if that’s why I sometimes seem fake to people. Special and unique in my own normal non-contrarian way. I hope I can live to see this all work out. I must admit I ideated again, entertained the notion of cutting my legs. I wouldn’t be able to hide it, so honestly that helps me stop myself a lot. I couldn’t stand hurting him that much. I think he’s the one diary, I really really do. If I do things right and be an adult, a good human. God the things to share. I love his taste, I love being frustrated at how he refuses to shuffle music, he’s so strong and capable and when things need to change he’s honest but fair. I need to give this my all, I need to cut the bullshit weight that isn’t productive. I love him so much and he fixes me up so well. I need to be better for him, I do for me as well.
Oh yeah I was nicotine free for a year.
Crazy how much I’ve changed.
I’m having a hard time believing myself, I’m having a hard time believing in you, I’m having a hard time being happy and I’m having a hard time living life. I’m fully convinced this life is my hell and all I have to do is change my ways and succeed in more ways than financial to be okay. but lifes so hard, the days I’m down everyone else is okay, the days I’m happy everyone else is low. It feels like my demons hop from person to person, but I keep my reality in check by saying it’s just a sad coincidence, I’m stupid and raw. I’m having a hard time getting over the fact I miss someone and I miss them so badly, so badly my mind screams at me that one day I may miss them forever, I hate it. I hate my stupid brain and it’s parroting, I hate my fucking brain and it’s damage I hate it here I hated it there I’m unsatisfiable because whereever I go it’s the same scummy patterns lurching into view. I hate my snappiness, I hate how it overrides me, I wanna destroy everything so badly, I want to break shit and dissapear forever I want to kill it all so all the guilt would fucking leave. I’m so tired of feeling hurt, biting and then aching from my own venom. I can be so low and morose and then I look up from my ipad and see my bunny, happily in front of a fan, and I wonder how bad of a mom I’m being, if I’m giving enough, if I’m truly loving. It all eats me alive, every day, every person, every animal. Am I being selfish if I open up to others? Am I being sheltered by apologizing or feeling the need to for being a bother? What is acceptable? Do both parties agree to themselves what’s healthy? I doubt there’s a rubric. I think I cried an okay amount…..but I truly miss those thigh shaking, chest quaking, air gulping sobs and moans. Anything else isn’t good enough….
Truthfully today is still a bleak day despite all I’ve done.
I cooked two meals, I made a special hide for my bunny, I even cleaned up my home.
Yet this under-cropping dark side of me is still here making me feel like I should just go. I’m hurt, hurt that friends didn’t value me enough to show their ability to change. Hurt over the fact that I’m so often in the dark wondering how cheated I am going to be vs how much I’ve cheated them. I’m hurt that friends don’t see the value in my interests or likes. I’m wondering, at my age, with my home-hopping ways, will I be able to make tangible friends? Friends I can shop with and get fucked up with and just be honest with? I’m scared my lax attitude towards recreational drugs will harm my career opportunities…..I’m scared cause I don’t know if I truly want career opportunities. I’m scared about surgery, I’m scared about appearances, I’m scared about who myself is.
I almost had to get a swimsuit last week and my brain could do nothing but freak out. I’m scared, I’m a parasite, I’m scared that I keep thinking about giving up the things that were meant to define me. I lost my guts, my edge, my desire to open, is this all a re-hash? Sometimes it feels like one….
These haunting words reach out to me, the droning string being all I have taking me out of this realm of pain and extreme discomfort. All is internal now, my exposed armor weakens by the day. My core ungaurded. These words that float out of magnetic coils are alien to me, their meaning lost but their tone a warm hug. A tight hug. The tighest that I need. Without awkwardness punctated by extreme doubt. This foreign matter lodged in my 外れs pains me day after day draining me of all enjoyments. I will conspire and destroy and feed and all will be wrong with the world. That’s a lie. I i…….I don’t want this anymore, why does it hurt so bad, why does it consume all days. Why does it infect every aspect of myself, I know what to do and yet this bitter iron taste this horrid desire to doubt. Am I truly that worthless? No one bullies me, only I do. I’m my own worst friend, I cut and burn and force insomnia. I make things late, I make things rushed, I distract myself because……Why the fuck would you do that to someone? What the fuck is wrong with you?! I didn’t do anything to you I was just a weird and awkward kid and you wouldn’t stop
I told you to
I told you again and again and it hurt then and it hurts now
I can’t fucking trust anyone because of you
I can blame it on everything I can flip flop every day but at the end of the day no one was there for me then and I can’t feel safe because my mind will forever have a black patch that screams someone will do it again. Fucking finally I cried. I hope that bastard got what he deserved, I hope I was the only one. I hope I can burn this damaged flesh and rise from the ashes. I think I can, I know I can, I have all the time in the world to remember more, I have all the time I need to shed all this dead weight. I know what I deserve and it wasn’t you, or the one prior, I should’ve stuck up for myself always. give an inch of doubt and people will take as many miles as they can get out. You might find this funny but I think these pieces take real strength, real courage and comfort to just….lose myself in them. To find my conclusions to try rhymes, to give up. To do whatever I can as best as I can. Maybe they’re cringe af, a goth girl with an ediary hahahahaha but I dunno. This shit works. I come back and reread them all, and each time I only feel better about them. It felt good to admit it, it felt good to call a person in the worst memory a piece of shit. I should wash off the pheromones of a doubting weakling, they probably don’t smell cute at all.
And here I am, the difference between the ideal and real me waning every day. The costume and the being slowly growing greyer, not a dreamer but a doer, someone actually putting forth the effort. My flaws becoming open but also gifts. My curses, my tools. The question no longer whether I’d be anything, but how far I will go. One day I might be an expert at something, a real challenge for someone who’s hardly had an ego. Is this how healing happens? Why am I so scared of who I am afterwards?
The following is a collection of some works I never published, I know I talk about writing from raw emotion but these posts were written very much in the middle of arguments or breakdowns. I hope that in them you can see a bit of yourself and maybe come up with a better way to handle tough situations. The third entry in this post I just finished writing, it’s a book end to the previous two, separate works. Showing my mindset in the current moment. I hope it can help you in some way!
November 1st, 2019 2:17 pm
Get a life coach
They’ll help you line up a good approach
I keep tying to figure out how I could, when my path seems so radically different from others.
What if I’m too different?
What if that’s a sign that I can’t succeed?
What if I’m just stuck.
I’m trying pretty hard to not think I’m broken, but I’ve been feeling that way a lot.
Sometimes I have bad thoughts about pulling back everything. Deleting every account and just running I don’t even feel proud of anything because it all feels so basic. I look up to people just to despise their outlook, I know to seperate the art from the artist but it always seems so fundemental. I’m scared I’m never going to move past all this and really make something. Maybe that’s my fault, truthfully I wouldn’t care as long as my job didn’t make me think of suicide and if money wasn’t so tight.
October 29th 2019 4:57 pm
I exhale and shouts echo back
A response that highlights the understanding that they lack
You sold me comfort support and love
My dumb ego bought in with every chip above
I try to break free but my fragile wings are the size of a dove’s.
You snap my neck and cuddle the corpse with a glove.
I trudge through mountain city snow passively reflecting on my past,
Doing my best to satiate all these cravings that only last.
Every bad parent day, every self abuse,
every poor choice, every thought of a noose.
I hate how you explode at me then reel me back in with love.
Put blame on me to make me feel bad just to hold me and tell me how great you think I am.
“You do so much for me”
“I’m glad I have you”
“I don’t know what I’d do without you”
Contemplating ties, shattered frozen heartstrings stinging with every reverberation of the cuts you inflict
I stumble and falter every time, different face and name,
Hobbies, interests, vehicle, asshole all the same.
Intruding on my future, holding dependencies over my head like a keep-a-way game.
I didn’t ask for your help just so you could hold my heart hostage
using fear to keep me captive
I have a lot to consider. Right now it’s winter. Has me feeling bitter. Haven’t heard a pitter patter in a moment I’m alive. Hoping that you understand right now there’s no chemical I wanna imbibe. I’ve got self acceptance from adolescence. Finally captured the essence and I know that it’s going to be tough. Life’s kinda boring if the paths not rough but I’m trying to be me, I’ve got a lot of scratches I’ve got to try and buff. I want to take my licks like a champ, smile on my face. Look back on this all like a man from outer space and I think I can. That’s the difference, glass half-full took a pound plus 6, finally learned I can smile and be a witch.
As I progress in life, I find myself reflecting on the various flaws I’ve always exhibited.
This weird fixation I have on past memories, trying to fix things, bad moods causing restlessness.
In the moment it seems normal but as I look back it’s obvious how much of an issue it is.
It’s like there’s an open wound in my brain and I’m idly playing and picking at it with whatever I can.
Like somehow my self abuse has been transferred to mental instead of physical.
Lately, my hobbies have helped me avoid the dark corners of my idle mind.
But I can’t seem to understand the new perspectives doing so has unlocked.
I used to think that perhaps growing up I was only lied to, that past villains were victims.
Now that I’m even older, I’m starting to wonder if anyone’s telling the full truth.
I think about this now, in my early 20s, the dawn of life on my own, having made steps to some goals and accomplishing others.
Reliability, self-sufficiency, motivation, courage, all of these characteristics and accomplishments I finally have.
I’m not arrogant to say that it’s really that big of a deal, or that I’m even close to ever understanding things.
But life finally feels like it’s mine, no chaos, no chewing out for clothes, no time to do anything for anyone but me.
Selfish sounding, sure, but I love the fruits of labor.
I guess it never occurred to me that I always could’ve been lied to by both parties and at that point, why care?
If I’m truly going to grow and I truly want to let go of the past, then I need to do it for everything, not just my stupid internet drama, not just the mistakes I made and the way I hurt people in the past, but the things done to me too.
It’s hard, not picking at your wounds.
It’s hard because the pain is easier taken than the difficult task of steering your idle mind away from the sharp jagged edges of your bad memory shore. As the waves slumber beneath the tide-line and raise with a deafening static, the repeating sounds of things you think happened seem right there in the present, you aren’t near those rocks.
You aren’t even near the beach.
You aren’t even on the same planet as them, but in your heart, your soul and your mind you feel like you are.
That’s why it’s such an easy task and why it’s a deadly one.
At least now I’m acknowledging my own faults, I own up to it.
I was fucked up and did fucked up things, but I can’t keep living this way.
I gotta stop picking at wounds.