Life’s hard. So what I wanted to say was, I don’t just come here to write about my life because that’s the sole purpose in my life. I’ve thought of a lot of things. Reading, hobbies. Stuff. I’ve thought of a lot, had a lot of ideas. I’ve tried a lot, too. My–colloquial–ADHD precludes so much. Reading is hard for me. Movies are hard to sit through. TV is hard. It could be that my brain is habituated to substances and now nothing else will do–I even notice for the first time today it ruining my appetite for food (DRUGS ONLY, hmph!). I think this should regrow with time. I hope sooner rather than later. Possibly sooner than I think.

I try to be acceptable on here. I guess you wouldn’t follow if you found me loathsome. Some people just have no spine whatsoever though, and feel motivated by obligation and no sense of self-worth. Those people are hard to deal with, because you always feel guilty for them and it’s hard to change them.

It’s all in our wiring. We can change, but you have to work at it.

I think I will be able to enjoy other forms of media (beside writing) in time. I’m finally getting off the substances. Thank God it wasn’t stronger stuff like coke or heroin. You know?

I’ve had some sketchy experiences. Grad school was an absolute wreck. I lucked out that they didn’t kick me out, that I graduated with the master’s. I did a lot of work though. It sort of happens behind the scenes to me. I’m so occupied with my problems I forget how productive I am. My last job, my boss always noted on the quality of my work and observations. It’s natural to me. Maybe I’m gifted. I don’t want to pass the metaphorical ball too soon, but I think we all are. It would be hard to be someone else. I’m so habituated to success, but really I don’t need it. I just want to be happy.

I’m so sketched out by my mother’s superstition. She’s drilled some horrifying stuff into my skull. I used to be so liberal. Maybe I shouldn’t listen to her so much. Brother Alex doesn’t.

How I call him that. Kind of funny. Super formal.

Well anyway. What was I saying? I don’t really remember. I feel like I’m regaining my style. I could branch out into writing short stories. Flash fiction seems doable in the near future. It’s miraculous that any of my poetry is published. Some of it is so weird. But people find meaning in odd places. I don’t want to exploit or victimize or prey upon anyone. I’m just being myself.

This is getting tiresome, but none of you should lose hope. Keep up the good fight.

Abrupt ending. Eh. Nothing else to say.

Dinner is on the plate. I’ll nibble away. (No I won’t, I’m not hungry. I’ll let it cool and eat later. I’m such a LIAR! Humor humor. Etc.)

It never seems like a good place to stop. Something is holding me, and that’s what creeps me out. I don’t want to be a pawn to my instincts. I want to be free. And right now, I don’t feel free. I feel obligated. To do things. It’s chaotic and insane. I need to change.

I don’t know what to do but I think I’m on the right track? The voice in my head says I’m not, which is horrifying. For the voices to be so negative. It’s probably the kratom talking. What a demonic plant, in excess. I suppose it’s fine when it’s chewed as a leaf on the plantations of Malaysia. I need to see what I’m like, who I am, without drugs. Then we’ll be able to tell if I’m a pawn. I bet I won’t be.

I don’t feel free. It worries me.

Never a good place to stop.

Don’t worry, varjak. It comes out way better than you think it does…

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