The internet doesn’t want me. My life my be in threat. Seriously. Being on the internet could be life-threatening. There are people on there who might want to kill me.

But I like to think I have chiseled out my own little space on here.

Really, all you do is sign up for an account (basic one is free).

It’s not so complicated.

Saying things others want me to say again. Not sure what that entails.

I wish antipsychotic medication worked better.

So I thought about exercise again.

Oh yeah I had breakfast. Soup and coffee. More later. Discussion of it, not eating it.

Wouldn’t it be nice to start off each morning with my soccer team.

I don’t have a soccer team I’ve never played soccer in my life.

It’s not happening.

I resolve to failure having not even tried.

End of story.

What else…

Even good-intentioned people can not understand. They say things like, Well surely you understand the difference between imaginary pain and real pain, and I answer well kinda actually not! I do feel like I am touched inappopriately (raped) in a sense when merely intensely awkward. There’s a boundary is what I mean, a threshold, that DOESN’T exist for me. For me it’s merely a gradient. So like, you could say this obvious area (if we could map it out) is called “discomfort” and this obvious area in the map is called “danger” and this area is called “raped” and this area is called “safe”. But where do we draw the map? How do we teach me?

And who’s got the time for all that, honestly?

So anyway. It’s a tractable problem.

This is why I complain about my dad psychically raping/harassing me all the time.

Except a scientist’s why is very different and will always make more sense to them. Communicating it is the difficult part, and they often overestimate how understood they are.

I can look down on just about anyone these days.

Which makes me sad, actually. Means I don’t have any friends.

This reminds me of my former PI.

All I remember of him are fake images, and imagined scenarios. Fear, in short. And all I feared was his idiocy, his evil. It doesn’t matter how delusional I am, because I will always remember him as a bad person.

So there goes that one to the history books.


Yeah, incentive to form more relationships.


I don’t want to do anything. It’s starting. That feeling. I have to go to work in three hours. I don’t want to do anything. The other feeling, there’s not enough time in the weekend / I don’t want to go to work on Monday, is also starting.

THESE problems I want solutions to. Nobel Prize in psychology my friends. I would estimate.

But alas. Psychology is a legitimate science and mega progress is often made. Just look it up. It’s fascinating stuff. No one cares to know, though.

I’m just sitting here talking because i have nowhere to go. The other option is a beautiful, safe walk through the forest. Doesn’t exist, for multiple reasons, right? =)

Well I guess I’m just fucked.

Mom’s gonna be a bitch this morning. I can sense it. She didn’t work last night.

I wish I had more rights. Like the ones I was already guaranteed would be nice.

But I guess false advertising and all that.

Some sense of autonomy to my thought processes would be nice. Some sense of right to my own output mechanisms, writing, speaking. That would be nice.

I get an overhwleming powerful sense from others that i am not to divulge things.


It’s probably just the cops not getting in trouble again.

We always have that, at least? We can blame it on the cops, and they’ll never get in trouble. Isn’t that nice?

I wish I lived in a happier place. Superfice, doesn’t seem too bad. Bay Area. But more than it meets the eye. Just, a shithole in disguise. The people in particular are monsters on the inside.

California is not a good place to live. I will go to the end of the Earth to advertize against them, because I am a good person looking out for my fellows.

Not sure where/how else to try though. I dn’t have many options, “Financially” / “Too scared”. To move. I guess. Haven’t thought about it that much. Mom is dead weight. She says NO to everything. Fucking terd.


Writing isn’t improving my mood. I need to look for something else to do. Maybe morning hygiene. Brushing teeth has gotten easier after stopping kratom. Showering, not so much. So I’ll at least do the former.

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