I want to be as honest as possible. I don’t know how to start this post. It takes a lot of effort, no that’s not right, it’s so easy to lie, I mean, it’s not on purpose, are lies on purpose?…
I remember going to the movies, or watching movies in my room at college, or wherever, at a friend’s house. I had the attention span to sit still and enjoy it. Eat popcorn. Just relax and enjoy the experience.
Now I’m so fidgety and restless, I can’t sit still for more than five minutes, and even that is painful to do so.
My condition has ruined so many normal outlets or rather, inlets, for entertainment, fueling and feeding my brain with creativity and production and intellectual science and whatever. Stuff. Feeding my brain with stuff. Stories, art, productions.
I’m starving. I’ve been starving for years. Not in my belly, but in my mind. I think it leads to madness. It’s really not much better than food starving leading to death.
All these halloween stories on twitch in video games or in movies or whatever. The common theme of like, the patient from the insane asylum escaping to find her daughter, or what have you. I am now that patient. They describe, more often than not, that the patient had years of nightmarish existence in between stupor-inducing pills. I mean, I won’t say the pills induced drowsiness in me, though in many they do, for me it was restlessness and akathisia, also horrifying, but yeah… in between hellish nightmare reality…
It’s so funny. It’s so easy to brush off as fictional. Mental wards. Nightmare reality. But if your brain is damaged enough, it can happen. It happened to me.
I’m still recovering. It’s been 10 years.
I think. I think the main thing I should remember, is not to rush. Anything. I mean, if my mom is rushing me for an answer, sure just blurt something out for her. She won’t get quality dialogue but that’s what she asked for. The cheap and easy. She’ll never learn, either. She’s not the type. She’s a stupid Russian women. Russians are this type. They’re so ego-heavy, and like, thing they’re intellectual, but really, they’re rather dull and not at all sharp when it comes to interaction or even style or art or taste. They’re rather clumsy and awkward. From what I’ve noticed so far.
Samples size probs < 5, tbh, so don’t quote me.
I’m in love with all of this. I really am. But I can’t take it anymore. The spying. Why. Why not just ask me? Why spy? It’s so much easier.
People think they have to do it the hard way.
I mean, sometimes if the hard way is the only way, then yeah. Working out, exercising, dieting. That.
But other times, really, if there’s an easier option, I mean, why be suspicious?
I go to the bathroom. I notice my ankles. I think it’s the gabapentin. I took three, to try to relax. The dosage says 1-3 three times a day so I didn’t break any rules.
Even hearing a bang on the wall from my mother’s room just fucking freezes me with mental trauma and terror. What is wrong with me. And why is she banging on the wall? It’s not even that loud but still. I don’t even touch my wall through the course of the normal day.
I hear voices. The sound of the glass being put to the table makes a sound, it sounds like a voice to me. Normal sounds, transform into people talking to me. I think that’s the best way to describe it.
If I seem obsessed with describing it through all these years, it’s because no one, not a single fucking soul, has acknowledged that I am describing it well, the complexity of it all.
No one really cares.
People just make paltry efforts.
I want to write some poetry for you soon. But no one reads it. My poetry blog. No one likes my poetry.
I’m so alone in all of this.
Mom is wrapping my birthday presents. It’s my birthday two days from now. Doesn’t hardly seem to matter, does it. To me it doesn’t. I don’t know. I mean it’s nice. Whatever.
We’re going to Monterey for a few days with the brothers. Father is not invited. Needless to say.
I feel this urge to go hang out with my friends. My brain thinks I have friends. It hasn’t realized yet that I’m alone. It just hasn’t registered. It’s such a painful handicap.
I haven’t watched a single lecture video in days. I haven’t made any progress on my career studies.
I don’t really care. I don’t see myself ever reaching the finish line.
I haven’t found any pleasure in engaging in activities or studies so far.
It’s just not fun. Nothing is pleasant for me. I have no small pleasures in life.
The little details are there to observe, yes, but who says they have aesthetic value? Enjoy what you will, but I’m a pragmatist. If it serves a function, good. If not, then it’s meaningless.
I don’t know what to do. I remember when the Playstation came out. I was young and we were in some store, dad and I, and I played the demo for Jumping Flash or what’s it called. It was one of the intro games. Quite good. Cool concept. Bonkers artwork, you’re this bug thing that can jump real high and it’s a 3d platformer. I dont’ know what those are called. Exploration game(s). I guess.
Never bought it.
I don’t know what to do. Should I stop writing? This powerful force wants me to. Why? It doesn’t matter, stupid. Stop pressuring me.
The voices are, like, beside tormenting me, I’ve just noticed that they’re also just really fucking stupid.
Should I stop writing?
There’s nothing else to do.
My life is empty x emptiness, remember?
No one remembers.
There are no jokes or humor in my scene.
It’s a drama.
I don’t know what to do.
I just want to survive uninjured, more or less.