Ah, I, I don’t know where to start.

Why would Twitch streamers psychically pick on me like that? Does anyone believe me? I don’t believe myself. Why would I indulge in my mental illness like this? (Because it’s so damn real…)

I’ve forgotten what it means to be human. I’ve forgotten what it means to be male. To be 32, in your 30s in other words. To live with family. Everything that defines me and is about me, I’ve lost touch with it, and I have been left identilogically, pardon my French, dissociated. I am sentient, I am conscious, but I am not whole.

I don’t know. There’s nowhere really good to go after that. Pepto-Bismol is my candy nowadays. Anything for stomach relief. It’s not as bad late afternoon. Mornings (or whenever I wake up, God forbid) are terrible, and evenings are not as bad but still unpleasant, in terms of digestive problems. Which implies that coffee is more destructive of my GI than kratom, but that both are destructive. Coffee is a severe irritant, kratom is a moderate irritant. Severe, moderate, mild, light. Remember the scale.

But of course, I’m joking.

I should do some pervy stuff, watch some porn or read a hentai manga or something. Get in touch with my base instincts. That always kind of snaps me out of it. No shit, I’ve done that during the middle of an intense panic attack and it got my heart racing and dug me out of it. The power of sex, folks. The Indian chakras and all that know something about something.

What am I even doing anymore… What am I even saying anymore… I feel so miserable…

But it’s not all a loss. I haven’t lost my sense of humor. It might be hard for you to discern if you don’t know me well, but there have been points of it here and there. I like to intersperse it. Wry humor. Hung wry and dry.

Well I’ll be off then.

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