Hunt

I don’t know what to do. I feel like the times have changed. Is society no longer safe? I feel like there’s a lot of wars and humanitarian crises going on that I don’t know about and it’s super scary. I don’t know who my enemies are but I wish I could just be left to live my life. Definitely feel like some evil people out there are out to get me.

This could all be paranoia, I am diagnosed schizoaffective depressive, so. You know how that goes. Lol. No, you don’t, most of you. Well though if you take all health conditions I guess it’s fairly common for a random person to have at least one. Is it? What’s the probability there?

I’m so scared. I worry for my brother. I don’t know if he’s caught my paranoia. I get these delusions. I have no basis in fact or reality of any, like, perceptions, and there’s no telling how bad it can be. Fuck I have been through some experiences, I don’t know how bad it can get, but I know how bad it has been, for me personally. And that… is horrifying.

So on a lighter, but still pedantic, note (as far as mental illness is, uh, pedantic? strange juxtaposition, that…), I’d say I’d like to reinvigorate my life / lifestyle with things I enjoy. I want to enjoy my life. But I have to figure out how to do that… almost strategically. Drugs are no longer an option. It’s amazing that they ever were. I’ve had such a privileged life, to be able to say that. That’s my opinion, at least. I mean, it seems the pot might’ve been the one that destroyed my brain. But it was also really fun before the brain got destroyed.

What was I talking about, I feel like I sidetracked a bit…

I can’t think right now. I’m really fucking scared. I feel like something bad is going to happen. I have to survive tonight without clonazepam. We really got to figure out how to fix my life, asap. And time is of the essence. The psychiatrist is doing his best. He has a plan for me, and we follow the plan. I guess he’s, for the first time I kind of heard a little of like, professional clinician sort of disappointment in his voice, that not that much has worked for me yet. But I guess you get a resistant patient every so often, it’s just luck of the draw. Looking from his perspective.

Do I have ADHD?

Hmm.

Wish we could vote on it. That wouldn’t make the outcome correct or true.

But that’s how we do politics.

Ah well.

I’m so scared.

If it’s not fear it’s restlessness and like, this childish childish childish anxiety that I need to smear across the pavement by walking it out. I’d go for a jog if I could but I tweaked my back somehow. Ugh. Injuries precluding exercise is one of the most unfortunate things.

But what is the nature of resistance and when is it applied.

I don’t know what to do, man. I don’t know what to say. It is clear, however, that social media is not meant for me. I’m not that type of guy.

I, true me, loves solitude, Every once in a while mingle. But not more than a few hours a week. For sure. The includes the internet, that includes real life. That probably includes the family. I should be that independent. Really, it’s not that much to ask for.

Given those requirements/metrics, we can see that my trajectory is far off. I am way out of line, though through no fault of my own. I’ve just been going to the consolation closest or most conveniently available to me. Which I guess is not optimal. It’ll get you through, psychologically, for a while. It won’t even do it in a pleasant way. I mean it would’ve been nice to have more efficacious consolation sooner, longer, earlier, better, just, fuck. Why did I go through what I went through. If anyone knows my story I bet they’d be scared and sad at the same time. Possibly just, feel bad for me. I don’t know, man. What is my story?

I don’t know that I’ve told it, on here, to be honest. The stuff, the grad school, the insane asylum in England at a layover.

It’s a lot. I’ve been through some crazy crazy stuff, and I’m only starting to realize the magnitude of it. Wow. Holy hell how did my family not die of anxiety attacks. I wonder if middle brother secretly had any and hasn’t told any of us. Panic attacks, full-throttle ones, are thee most devastating thing I can imagine, at this point in time. They are that bad. Worse than grief. But how can I compare. You can compare once you’ve been through both. I’m not superstitious, I can talk about it: I’ve not had any loved ones die. Our pet cat died, but that’s natural and I wasn’t that attached.

Some things I don’t want to talk about, though. Not out of superstition, just out of preference.

Man look at this intelligent discourse. I’m growing brain cells, am I? Latudaaaaaa (inside joke between mum and me).

So.

I guess thus begins the hunt.

And really I ought to relish this preferential treatment I get with these Twitch stars. They’ve chosen ME to have telepathic communion with, out of all their viewers, me me me. It’s crazy. I feel so lucky. I don’t deserve it. I should enjoy it. Just relax and enjoy the telepathy. For once. It’s really cool.

Right?

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