I’m not titling this because that is extra work and do you know how hard it is to come up with a good title for everything I put in ONE post? There is so much content! I am the best blogger on the internet

I was having a psychotic episode for a few hours earlier tonight again, as always I mean. And it wasn’t pleasant.

Now I’m writing to keep myself company.

I think I misidentified a lot of my emotions. I think they are irritability.

I don’t know why I should be irritable. But sometimes it’s hard to find something that placates me. I don’t know what’s wrong with me sometimes. I get this sense that there is something in the space around me, in the air, in my spatial mind, and it is to be avoided. And it’s hard because it always gets me.

Dad has three cell phones. I don’t know.

I realize, I just went on Twitter just now, that I was tripping after I paused on a photograph for a brief moment. All it took to realize I was tripping was that brief pause, in one spot, without scrolling down. Without the cyber akathisia. That’s a real thing by the way! Look it up! =)

I don’t know how it’s possible to be so dysfunctional and yet still alive. I don’t want dementia when I get older, we’ll just put it that way. And I wouldn’t want my mom to get it, either. It sounds painful.

I’d vouch for confusion being a form of pain.

There are so many forms of pain.

I’ve been through so much.

All these black whores are like, so fucking fucked in their panties about racial injustice. Well, yeah, I mean, cops are brutal to everyone.

Insert some stupid statistic here to prove me wrong or right. Find a reliable source, reputable. I don’t want to gamble either way.

But anyway. I’ve never taken a course on black anything or racial anything. I haven’t researched it.

I believe in the power of research.

I am so perpetually exhausted by everything I see on TV.

And yet I’m addicted to this trash tube.

When I slow down, but there are still spikes and they hurt like hell. There were black dots at one point. The spikes have been worse, too. What I meant was, when I slow down, the voices turn into my imagination, and I know it’s not real. It’s real, but it’s in control, in the mind. It’s actually a good thing, then.

It’s so perverse that it turned out this way.

Everyone screaming Me Me Me at the top of their lungs.

Meanwhile it’s 12:12 AM and I need to get to bed for a hefty day of work tomorrow.

Well whatever. I hate going to be unfulfilled. I don’t know why but today wasn’t particularly fulfilling.

Perhaps you can piece together by now some of the stuff I went through today. Also, as a side note, I hate myself. But just as a side note.

It’s like, what wins, freedom of speech or racial equality? Why are they always fighting? There’s some mega evil genius mastermind shit going on behind the scenes if two good things are always fighting in modern society. IMO.

Post? No hasty moves? They freak me out. You’re fine. Who am I talking to? I don’t know you.

I wonder if some forms of writing are illegal.

I wonder if fellow schizophrenics like my writing style.

Who knows.

Never a good place to stop.

C’est la vie.


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