Archives

meh #1

It doesn’t feel right, even my panic attacks feel unfulfilling now, and what kills me is I see it, and I can’t do anything but wait and wonder when it will happen when this all reaches it’s peak. I wanna rebel, and fuck this shit up, break the chain but I know what happens when you do. I’m just trying to figure this shit out, I haven’t slept in two days like…I’m going to this fucking new continent for what this awkward guy who i don’t even know, how does this benefit me? Is it really worth the answers i want? With my friends it’s the same way, asking me why I’ve gone away I say it’s because of lost time and other excuses that i feel are benign but I’m aware how distant it all seems now, and there’s a division in my heart…..wow I kinda feel lost, and I kinda feel alone, even though this new place should appear to be a home. I don’t feel safe crying, I don’t feel safe to express, how many emotions can i keep compressed? I got a DM asking if I was okay, and I abused social engineering because I knew it’d be better that way, same excuses, same sob story, and somehow to me depression doesn’t get boring. I don’t have release, at least anything fulfilling. Daydreams increased but all it does is tax me like billing.

June 20th, 2016 2:48am

Meh #2

How did this all start when does this story begin when did I notice that the cycles applied to friends? We live in this wheel where every artist says it’s different and Dylan said there was too much, I found that to be repugnant. They pour their heart and soul to form these pieces saying this generation is the one to be different from the reese’s Yeah it’s all different colors, but the taste is the same the ingredients are a bit mixed, and you’ve got a unique name. Like Hex and Ocerak, that’s pretty creative, and then that cycle passed so what do I name it? They say you’ll highlight the glory days of the past, but unlike Sally Jupiter I won’t echo the phrase her shadows cast. and how many times will it happen, I hope it never ends. I always used to wonder how someone could end up with no friends. I reach out to call them, maybe moreso in my head, but I know I want to keep some till the day I end up dead. I hope these feelings aren’t alien I hope they’re not unique, I hope that everyone in the world has thought about it for weeks. Maybe it’s paranoia, maybe it’s the sense of destroyers, doing it the same way hard drives do, to think in 5 days I’ll be able to tell you about the soya. By the time I’m done writing this it’ll be four, and here I am wondering what these college classes are for. I hope you don’t like it, I hope you can critique, because I’m sick of these hollows making me feel meek. I’m not even a rabbit, turns out I’m an ox, but these days pieces of paper aren’t so accurate so I guess I’m locked. Went too personal there I know, it’s just writings my new drug so I figured I’d let it show. Past cycles keep asking me if I’m alright, say I seem anxious, cynical and- no. Truth is this my way of keeping my demons in check, every couple of days I take a break and reflect, these cards I’m dealt with, I’m stuck with them, there’s no re-spec I’m just trying to do my best with my load-out, so please just respect. July 3rd, 2016 11:48pm

Meh #3

We all have nicotine nightmares,many scare off the hares,they’re soft noses twitch at every scream,but they’re just animals so they don’t know what they mean.How callous are we when we’re awake? When the only time we’re weak is when we dream of being eaten by snakes? My philosophy is that there is none, fighting it all in a war that’s already won. I think it shows the strength of the human heart,because most great people in my life don’t have to be smart. You’ve got to be brave, you’ve go to have guts,because the smart ones in this world only want to cut. You’ve gotta have compassion, and sometimes you’ll have to be weak,because we’ll lose anyways, so there’s no shame in being meek.The generation of fakers is at hand, people who claim to love animals,but turn away to the slaughter of their fellow man.They use devices made with indentured children, and cry at words on twitter.They pretend they have the worst experiences, and if you deny them their truth, they’ll label you as fake.It’s a massive herd of black sheep,but we all have nicotine nightmares in our sleep.

August 26th, 2016 12:55pm

I’m thinking

Thinking about this nightmare, with my dad in a room. Thinking about when he said to me “I gave up so much just for you” Thinking about the solemn rejection on his face Thinking about what I said. Thinking about the truths I released, that’d make him wish I were dead. I’m playing a game with a tutorial that states to me “it’s fine” continues on to say to me “I didn’t worry, I figured it out in no time!” Flashback with a familiar scene, the statements are the same The only difference is the tutorial is playing the tutorial’s mom’s game. I don’t think I understand, the difficulty curve, I think things are too complicated, and I think families are a bit absurd. Nobody wants to admit how unsure they really are, I think family figures are too prideful to admit they’re trying really hard. Maybe deep down they’re convinced they’ve figured it all out, and that their assumptions are so correct, they don’t have any doubts. Part of me hopes they feel the same way I do, they just psych themselves up. So they hardly ever lose. Life is complicated, the data’s everywhere. I’m terrified of what comes next, I’m tired of being scared. Sometimes existence is a system, and you’re a process too. We all just want a rest period, but nothing comes quite through. Maybe I’m an outlier, maybe your dreams are nice. Maybe you don’t focus on it, that must be kinda nice. Maybe it’s cruelty then, that I hope you do think twice.

May 10th, 2018 10:46pm

Good vent for bad souls

Ilike having this place to speak my mind, to get all the negative thoughts out of my head. I often feel less successful than my peers and I constantly feel like I’m sizing myself up against others. I hate how often I reflect on times in my life and am consistently disappointed and sickened by my actions. Always feeling like I hurt people and feeling like that’s what I do the most. Often times I feel trapped in a society that constantly is one page ahead on the script. I don’t get things easily and always feel slow. I’m sorry I didn’t open up when you wanted to talk about anime, I just don’t come out of my shell easily especially when I meet people, I watched the whole season of that show you talked about and I hope it didn’t come off as talking down to you when I told you it was probably a red panda, when at the time I hadn’t even seen a single frame of the show, I was right but that doesn’t give me any excuse, I hope I see you again and I can talk to you about how much I liked it. I’m sorry that I hugged you in High School when you didn’t want me to, and I’m sure it didn’t help that I was acting weird, I was in an odd place where I didn’t really know who I was and was trying desperately to accomplish that. I’m sorry that I made you cry that day, I know you’ve probably forgotten about it but the memories burned into my brain so I guess that’s my punishment, I didn’t mean for you to think I was calling you fat, I just didn’t rationalize what I was saying. I’m sorry I made you come out to your parents, I didn’t mean for that to start a whole shitstorm, I don’t blame you or your parents for getting the FBI involved, they were just protecting you, I’m sorry I didn’t understand what you were trying to say by showing me that web-comic. I’m sorry that I played pretend for you, trying the whole sub-dom thing and role-playing irl when I should have just been myself and cut things off a lot earlier, I hope you’re doing well and have a healthy relationship, or at the least are happy on your own. I’m sorry that I mentioned suicide and drugs when I first met you, I know it shocked you a lot, I just have very low ability at observing social cues and felt like honesty would be nice. I still don’t know who I am, a lot of times I think I do but when I look in the mirror I still am shocked at what I see. I never meant to make you feel like I hated you when I made fun of your comment on smoking at school, or when I talked about how having a kid in high school was irresponsible when you were pregnant, that’s not how anyone should start that conversation especially when I wasn’t really that close to you. I still can’y cry, I can never tell if it’s the after effects of the drugs if something somewhere inside me broke. I’ve deleted every-way people could talk to me, people that were my friends, I don’t truly think I can fault them for not texting me. Everyone asks me how things are when I wish they’d ask me if I’m okay, but I know if they did I couldn’t bare to show myself that way. I wish our families were motivators and not blockades, but I know that they’ve had habits and feelings about things for years and it’s a little bit much to ask something that complex to change. I’m sorry but I can’t give you money I’m sure I have some to spare but I can’t bare to see you continue this path when my mere existence is giving you money that you’re squandering. What’s sad is these aren’t even a large chunk of my sins, things I’ve done that aren’t even crimes haunt me every time my train of thought is gone. I want to forget them, I want to forgive myself. I’m sorry I can’t forgive myself, I just hope you’ll keep supporting me until I can either forgive or forget.

June 13th, 2018 10:59pm

Pressure Leak

Ithink it’s that time again when i can feel the pressure behind my windows I think I’ve got industrial grade sealant because whenever I get the point where the pressure builds only a few drops stream down I want them to shoot out and flood the sheets but they never do. Maybe my valve’s broken Maybe I need to hire a plumber to fix them. The thing that should bring me the most relief is the thing I seemingly can’t do it tortures me every day I know I’m not happy but I can’t fix that unless my pipes flood out. I have a friend now, who I’m supposed to treat like a friend. Friends aren’t very good plumbers. I looked up how to fix the pipes myself but everything is either too simplistic or too internal. I don’t know if my pipes are so corroded and clogged that they can’t be fixed. but they’ve been like this for a few years now So I’m starting to think that might be the case. drip drip

August 3rd, 2018 4:23am

Twisted Panic

Your panic attacks mean nothing. That’s what they show you, as their actions reverberate through your skull. Your depression means nothing, as the film grain is applied to the things you call memories, everything’s fuzzy and you feel so alone. Even though you have to share a home. I’m not a fan of this new nature we made for life, where dopamine is abundant if you pay the right price. I feel about 50/50 on a 1% split, and I don’t know anything that has good reactions from it. I’m not dedicated enough to ever truly achieve, because my wires are crossed with an easy lethargic breeze. It’s not that I’m dumb, it’s just I’m not applied, perhaps that is worse, so here’s my banshee cry. I’ll wail, I’ll thrash, I’ll kick and scream. I’ll be sure to feel like death while I give you ice cream, because it feels so good to help you, it feels so good to supply, it feels so good to help you, because I cannot die.

October 20th, 2018 1:39am

Me, myself, Me

Every day after school, door slam for an entry on an exit. Left the whole world behind, entered a new one unaffected. Right with the other side not alone, accomplished objective. Every single day, hour after hour. Daydream of each other, even in the shower. Meds made appetite off-kilter, but you kept my life perfect through a filter. Never a day alone, never a day depressed. Took a tech step forward, happiness regressed. Replaced you with pixels. replaced you with joy sticks. Every day after school, depression’s lips were licked. More gadgets, more gizmos, nothing was the same. Grew artistically, sorrow filled my brain. I don’t remember when, I don’t remember why, one day I decided you should die. Hours all alone, lying on my bed. Dreaming of forgotten worlds, with you stuck in my head. Right by my side, never did you falter. Left to my side, imaginary friend at the altar.

November 24th, 2018 11:16pm

The Safety of The Cave

They went to delve inside the depths of the astrological cave searching for hidden treasures, setting off traps, being brave.Foraging for fire, captivated by their discovery, manufactured high rise buildings to catalyze their recovery. Communication was stiff, needed to be improved, wired their ears to walls, then came monsoons.So another improvement, walls on the go, carried giant bricks that made them very slow, subsidize the size, revolutionary the same. Wasn’t good enough for us, wanted a few games. Want to check my stocks when the office is filled with rain. How about this animal, got to see it too. When everything comes through pixels, no need for the zoo. Required a lot of tress, maybe some metals too. Good thing Africa’s got plenty of children to make the toxic stew. Putting labor over happiness, funds over fun, create a yacht big enough for one. Retire at the young age of 91. Sickness is abound, world has lost it’s head, No love anywhere to be found. No delicate cycles, no one to pretend. Comfort is intoxicating, no need to make amends. I want to figure out how to bypass CCTV over BT. Listen to living rat, so we can discover if opposites attract. Hijack satellites with a single flashlight, because maybe with that kind of lifestyle I’ll know what it means to be free.

December 12th, 2018 9:29pm

Hamster wheel

Trapped in a bubble Floating on the surface Tensions waning Crashing as I lie You criticize me Advertise me Gave me pockets of lies Come inside Sit down and chat Take back everything you lack Vent your frustrations Adorations I’m begging you to take it back Push lead through the back I’m asking I’m pleading No more pain No more guilt Bad memory quilts Detoriate Rot Lie me in the mahogony cot I swear I’m good to no one I promise you’ll find it fun No more sunsets No more drunk nights You finally have won. Give me it all Show me I was wrong Trace me down through forgotten song I only ask to be held as you do it You don’t have to look at all You can wear earplugs So you don’t hear the shell fall So you don’t hear my breath stall So you don’t hear my happiness call. Two more forward No ground back No more bad news Only black Blood might mourn, few others too. I guess I’m selfish, just like you.

January 29th, 2019 1:38am

Good Riddance to Tumblr

I’m happy my format is gone I’m happy hyperlinks are broken things are better then ever they took the media too i’m really really progressing even my avi is gone i’m proud of myself i don’t think anyone reads this I’m just so much better than i’d ever have hoped thanks for making the Internets grave you scumbags

April 29th, 2019 11:05pm

Algorithmic Deterioration

I’m thinking about death. I’m thinking about paper trails. I’m thinking about blind typing. When I go would there be an investigation? Would my S.O. follow clues? Watch every blu-ray left behind? Chase what little social media I had? Would he ask friends about me? Interact and learn? Would he try to find my ghost in my past? Try to grasp every ounce of my being in the media I consume? Would he interact with family? Would he go on an Easter egg hunt for answers to questions only his god hole conjured up? Dabble in it all like esoteric text? I know that’s not what it should be. I’ll try and fill everything before I go. But time is random, tonight could be my last. Every night could’ve been my last. That night when the grass became hands, rising from the dark dirt, spiraling into infinity. As the painkillers numbed my nerves and I felt alone and at home. Many nights like that, they create aspiration. They create regret. When I lay out all the non-normals to another I’m filled with a feeling of failure. Judgement as well, trying to ascertain if the other normal thinks less of me, perhaps gain insight on if they think I’m a junkie. Maybe even a past addict? Right now I’m at the moment when I’ve gained the most, I have the most to lose. I once was told by a stranger on the internet who i dated briefly that for poetry I didn’t have to rhyme, a lesson that at the moment seemed like an impossible habit to break. I keep these poems up to reflect on myself. A form of digital therapy. The more time progresses the better I feel about my poetry, I don’t view them as awfully as when they’re first created. When I put this stuff up I don’t know if anyone reads it, but I keep it up for me and for whatever random person stumbles upon this hole in the wall. I can make these posts short or pages long. I have the total freedom to express myself with absolute confidence. The internet is getting bigger and more restricted. A very funny contradiction. Does anyone even know literary irony anymore? Do words even mean what they did when they were first created? Small thoughts for a devils idle mind. Back to therapy though. This is obviously not a solution or a replacement, rather a tool to help. It’s been almost a month with no devils lettuce. and years with no other stranger stuff. but when I get asked about my past by doctors, it feels like I did it all yesterday. I don’t regret my trials and caveman experiments, I only regret that it might make a false image of me. I suppose I fear the judgement. I suppose I fear the idea that my issues come from external stimuli. That it’s all because of chemicals. I’m building a site to host these works, so they may never be lost.

May 2nd, 2019 12:30am

New Perspective, old dreams – CorruptedDreams

I’m creating a new world

One that I hope you’ll enjoy

Flexing creative muscles

New mindsets to employ

Trying to stay positive

Extendng my social reach

Removing every leech

Maybe I’m glorifying a detox binge

but I haven’t felt this good in years

Doing all that I desired

Moving all my gears

I hope you’ll come with me

I hope you’ll be my friend

i think it’s the best we can do

To have a good end.

The #3 – CorruptedDreams

Two defining traits wound themselves tightly across every drop of rain that formed a day. Some days bright, others dark. Fingers point to circumstance, DNA, chemicals. Every breakdown, a new finger to point. Therapy over USB, connecting trauma from you to me. An ear that hears too much, preventing what I need to be. Scraping knives against each strand of rope, disconnecting the dead weight. I feel selfish, gas-lit and confused. I’m trying to ring back in this tougher version of myself, dredged with water scum and cold. Sometimes it’s hunger scares me and feels uncontrollable. I connect to stars and stereotypes to help satiate the confusion, but often it only gets worse. I hope to get past this, I know I’m doing better and every day is a right step towards something that feels unobtainable. I’ve already stopped counting the days since my first injection, a scary but real aware feeling. Pill habits are reduced to simple plastic week containers. Brittle memories and iron-clad fixations may not be so bad after all….

Hopeful Depression – CorruptedDreams

Cold carpet, warm embrace. Pillow pressed harshly against my face. Paranoid the same spike on awareness. Only makes me hate this place. Desire to trust, desire to love. Therapy not supplying preparedness. Lots of ideation, lack of a desire to eat, distancing myself in case I can’t get a hug. Brooding over nothing, punishing myself, still struggling to be happy after all this help. I feel like a scream with no echo, probably the attention I seek. Monetary worries, world looks pretty bleak. Lots of hope. Lots of dreams hope I can be satisfied with something you don’t eat.

Trading Spaces – CorruptedDreams

I stepped near the pool, the night sky casting it’s familiar mood upon the concrete surrounding the crystaline blue water. A lone figure lightly kicking her legs, water up to her knees. Her porcelain skin covered by gaurish gashes, bruises, wounds that had not yet healed. I sat next to her, nothing and everything on my mind at once, though her focus seemed intent on fixating itself on some harsh reality, stuck in it’s own cycle. I could tell she was hungry, a plate of rare steaks, bloody sat beside her. I felt my usual tredepdation, I worried her hunger would not be satisfied, not that the plate would ever run out. She grabbed one with her clean bare hand, a bite, before returning it to the plate. A few drops of blood hit the water, a ripple expending unendingly, her pain and need attempting to branch out to the far reaches of the Universe. Again, I looked at the plate, no bites had been taken, her hunger still the same. I greeted her as I had many times before, our voices a soft whisper compared to our public composure. We had our usual spat, the water and it’s unhealthy nature, pruning, her not being ready yet. So, when the time was right, I left. But through my days, just as before my legs were wounded as well, the disgust of seeing it welling up inside until eventually it became too much to bare. Again, as always I came to the pool, again she was there and again her mind was as it had been so many times before, blissful,pent up,anxious and wandering. I sat in the pool, not uttering a word, this time she greeted me, she gave me my own words and when all was right, she left instead of me. My own place for my legs, my own plate of steaks, my own ripples. They come in, they come out, trading places round a roundabout. If you could see what I want to be, you’d understand why I don’t like me.

Something to think about – CorruptedDreams

And here I am, the difference between the ideal and real me waning every day. The costume and the being slowly growing greyer, not a dreamer but a doer, someone actually putting forth the effort. My flaws becoming open but also gifts. My curses, my tools. The question no longer whether I’d be anything, but how far I will go. One day I might be an expert at something, a real challenge for someone who’s hardly had an ego. Is this how healing happens? Why am I so scared of who I am afterwards?

I wish – CorruptedDreams

Making a dent in a day at least that’s the worst thoughts like these don’t keep fears at bay. I fixate on the best I fixate on the worst Any idle thought or process that crosses my mind stays there If there were no financial worry If there were no reflective fear? If a career was something I had and I felt glad for it? Would there be any negative processes that would adhere? I want to believe life could be more I want to believe and hope that these are my rough twenties At the end there’ll be some magical tunnel of light Life will be different and safe but the world is burning itself slowly and every source doesn’t want to escape this black-hole of negativity consuming all Should I tell them? Should I open up? Is true self independence when I’ll feel ready? When I feel I’ll never have to rely on them again? Is that honesty? Is that love? If I’m holding back because I fear my rejection will hinder future struggles, What does that say about me? What does that say about them? If I fear them rejecting me If I worry about only having to rely on them Then it can only mean their acceptance would mean little it would feel fake, same as the others. Maybe the answer isn’t them or even others Maybe the answer has to come from me Maybe I have to be stable for me,maybe I have to be there for me. Maybe the person who was to say all those words I wish I’d hear Has to be me Maybe I cry for these things from others so badly because I don’t give it to myself? How am I going to right this course? I have to make myself stable and I have to love myself. I have to make these curses into gifts in my head. I wish me typing this out could ingrain itself in my mind. I wish the words could be the roots of trees, spreading through my parts Overriding all the dead roots Fostering their life and blooming. I wish

A season of change

Compiling compost. Stacking the children of the woods. A chore ending with a memory I like the most. Breath in the air, runny noses, tightened hoods. A season of change, marshmallows to roast. Blood picking fights, swarms for goods. Spiked eggnog and dubious cider for toasts. Sweet dreams for rough days. Tart ones for the worst. Closing both windows, jumping without a gaze. Here I am I guess. Nice to clear the haze. Witness my bare flesh as I’m lost in my voided gaze. Here I am world, I’ve many pieces to give. I’m afraid these supplies and delicacies will not be enough alone for you to live. No greens here, no tenderous loins. Only sweet treats and weird dreams for your mind to sivv. Here I am I guess, out of my cave. It’d be nice if there were a few pieces someone saved.

Goth girl with an e-diary – CorruptedDreams

These haunting words reach out to me, the droning string being all I have taking me out of this realm of pain and extreme discomfort. All is internal now, my exposed armor weakens by the day. My core ungaurded. These words that float out of magnetic coils are alien to me, their meaning lost but their tone a warm hug. A tight hug. The tighest that I need. Without awkwardness punctated by extreme doubt. This foreign matter lodged in my 外れs pains me day after day draining me of all enjoyments. I will conspire and destroy and feed and all will be wrong with the world. That’s a lie. I i…….I don’t want this anymore, why does it hurt so bad, why does it consume all days. Why does it infect every aspect of myself, I know what to do and yet this bitter iron taste this horrid desire to doubt. Am I truly that worthless? No one bullies me, only I do. I’m my own worst friend, I cut and burn and force insomnia. I make things late, I make things rushed, I distract myself because……Why the fuck would you do that to someone? What the fuck is wrong with you?! I didn’t do anything to you I was just a weird and awkward kid and you wouldn’t stop

I told you to

I told you again and again and it hurt then and it hurts now

I can’t fucking trust anyone because of you

I can blame it on everything I can flip flop every day but at the end of the day no one was there for me then and I can’t feel safe because my mind will forever have a black patch that screams someone will do it again. Fucking finally I cried. I hope that bastard got what he deserved, I hope I was the only one. I hope I can burn this damaged flesh and rise from the ashes. I think I can, I know I can, I have all the time in the world to remember more, I have all the time I need to shed all this dead weight. I know what I deserve and it wasn’t you, or the one prior, I should’ve stuck up for myself always. give an inch of doubt and people will take as many miles as they can get out. You might find this funny but I think these pieces take real strength, real courage and comfort to just….lose myself in them. To find my conclusions to try rhymes, to give up. To do whatever I can as best as I can. Maybe they’re cringe af, a goth girl with an ediary hahahahaha but I dunno. This shit works. I come back and reread them all, and each time I only feel better about them. It felt good to admit it, it felt good to call a person in the worst memory a piece of shit. I should wash off the pheromones of a doubting weakling, they probably don’t smell cute at all.

HeyHey – CorruptedDreams

Here I lie on my bed, practically grinning ear to ear. Perhaps it’s numbness, a sensation I’ve missed for so long, when the racing and roaring thoughts slow to a crawl and so many of them feel like nothing. Noise is a comfort, the light ringing of the ambiance of a bedroom. Anxiety to anxiety, push to pull, I wonder if my ideas could be achieved. Not in spite of my life but because of them. Oh diary, I often feel so lost and here your blank space is offered fully for me to fill. I used to hate dresses, heels too. I always thought I’d be a hoodie kinda girl, I guess in a way I still am. I have a secret, a warm gooey secret that for the first time in my life feels so special I just can’t share it. Not because of gossip or morals but because by telling others I know no one will value it as much as me. Writing when I’m happy feels like bragging, kinda makes me feel gross. I’m just so giddy and hopeful for shedding this dead skin, being someone who’s curteous and thoughtful, sensitive and strong. These words exited my hands, their tone mismatching my advance. I cut all open for ever, but I guess breaking even will occur never. You will ignore and judge, be mean and reconnect just to use your tether. I self abuse, I hold paranoias knife against my own throat. For only hourglasses to prove me true. But it’s okay, I can bleed until their is no more I’m still a doormat, I’m still so weak. Vials and pills, a generous share spills, when the situation flips, none for me to sip. No words, not even a pip.

Wish You were Here – CorruptedDreams

My shadow imprints the concrete every day, in every month, with any weather, brightest in May. There’s a noise in my head, a whispering clutching everything I am, a sense of awareness, a sharp knife that can never go dull. When I awoke and saw what I would never do I ran, my breath feels elevated, the world seems small like the view from a Gull. I want your hand on my breast, your hot breath on my neck. Every day has been a fight, a schizophrenic scream in dark tunnels, listening to noises that echoed the cold concrete walls surrounding. My doubt was so strong I started to believe my own nightmares, from AM to P.M. never letting go of Sam. I want to break all the rules I held myself down with, I want to exceed every limit. I want my spark to never go to waste, I want to see every dark corners treasure. I will be better, I will be better, I must be better. That’s why I write these letters. For me and everyone, for me and no one. I must make them, the shy guy who never liked to smile in pictures is fading, the memories of every sharp howling painful breath leaving. My body will be a temple, my mind a machine so complex, no one can hurt it. Cogs with redundant paths, ciphers and literature scrawling it’s surface. Every path explored, every smile real. A light in eyes that none notice. Body language that screams, “life can be this.” Perhaps not with you, perhaps with you, but life must reach that point no matter what. I must achieve it, I must.

Romance of the fonts

As the bitter winds bite my flesh, soft strings clip against my hard heart. Oh how these days seem so bleak, always tangentially familiar. Closer than family, more common than friends foreboding and sharp. Comforting and fuzzy. Often times so much bigger than myself, dwarfing all I have and want. I feel held hostage by them, thusly, I feel others are held hostage by me having them as well. Ideation another friend that I just cant stop flirting with, always there, always an escape option. No matter how grim these tunnels are its there, mocking me. My own personal ultimate enemy, so then, why don’t I hate it? Why is the shadow so attached to me? Where’d it even come from? If my own most hated enemy is a part of me then what does that say about me? Media can’t touch reality and my life’s so unique no one can truly guide me, besides, if I had the path and answers…..I’d probably fight against a few choices, like the novel “Misery” I might not agree with the ending. So this is life huh, never feeling more alive than when I daydream, never feeling more dead than when I’m not. Finding things to be “funny” but oh so wishing they were more. No wonder I’d want to escape. Have you ever really looked at the words as you typed them? Each letter is a complex process being accomplished with no oversight beyond our own. These blank spaces and blinking cursors being our friend, calling for us at our own rate, our rush imposed purely by ourselves and others. Rows and columns of pixels changing their hue solely and completely for you. From ink to pixels ya gotta admit, it’s so romantic it’s almost impossible to be truly alone.

For Future Finales – CorruptedDreams

Forever fastidious and flowing, that’s how I’d like to be. Perhaps frequently I’d like to feel, flying among others somehow never faltering. For as often as I can dream, I am compelled. Compelled to wish for fleeting thoughts, the first steps often always being so shaky. Folklore finally sinking in. For as much as I can read, meaning never found, I can only fixate on the few functions I can accomplish. Factions seem so clear, far from where they used to lay. I want to find something, perhaps fantasy but never final, aspiring to fictions that can never be my own. My own life a grim hard fairy-tale, one I escape with faded glory. For every falling figure skater, I only see a large finite fortunes being told for many of the figures that compare their failure seems to hard to pin I wonder if I’ll have my own.

Push Me

Each strand under each limb. Close my eyes. Sing me a memorable hymn. Drag me across, jagged sand. Above a mountain, wishing for wetlands. Whisper secrets in my warm ears. Feed my logic, kill my fears. Hold me caress me, pull me back. Treat me like a rabbit and reality, a hat. Keep me sober, give me dreams, push me and push me and push me till I wake. Wearing a smile that rivals the dawnbreak.

One more song

Leg wounds shrink away, much like the fogs that used to rule my day. As the self inflicted claw marks leave behind their existence for clean pale flesh. My mind is a flood, a torrent of angry wind and often times these feelings make me bend. For every ounce of hurt, two of blame. I regress to imagery of cutting vein. Right now I want to go, I want to leave this behind, people who don’t understand, my fractured mind. My yearning my stubbornness my hunger my needs. I want to go so badly, tomorrow makes me feel weak. I’m sorry I’m ideating, I’m sorry I’m sad, I’m sorry I want to leave this world the pain gets me so bad. I should be bright for others, and for myself first. But I can’t beat a level so I’m thinking about a hearse. I’m thinking about a spent casing, I’m thinking about a cig, I’m thinking about wasting away and I’m thinking I’m a kid. I’m scared and cold in love with it the same. I’m scared of loving cold with only myself to blame. I hate this ghost of me, when no one else is around. She puppeteers my darkest fears and throws me onto the ground. Truthfully none of it’s rewarding so I kinda wanna quit. None of it is working, Not one bit. I feel selfish thinking and selfish dreaming and my life has gome too long. In all hopes I may return for anotjer somg.

On Switching Sides

Null on the forced resignation of Stallman from the Open Source honorary boards.Cropped from the stream titled “Complacency”

I find myself in a weird spot where anywhere I want to talk about something, isn’t the right place to do so. For the past almost 6 months I’ve enjoyed the content of and supported financially the owner of KiwiFarms.I won’t do like other people and say his real-name pointlessly just to use gotcha points, or say much about his personal life, but he opened my eyes to a lot of real world issues facing society today. I enjoyed his site and still do.He taught me about anonymity in the current world, crypto-currency,history,copyright law, the list goes on and on.So, with that much positivism and the liking I took to him you might be wondering why I’m writing this and why I took the time to clip something from his stream, that clip in particular. There’s a complicated relationship with my social and content creating circles, one that I can’t exactly open up about anywhere.I’ve always said this was my public diary, and personal cathartic exercise so, why not here? Null makes racy jokes, he’s an internet guy, in his own weird form of networking, site management, all that shit. So, it’s only natural he pops racist, sexist, “insert whatever here”phobic jokes. Some are misogynistic, others against transgender people. No biggie says I, I hate lotsa people too. I think everybody should be able to be made fun of.Let’s be real, the transgender movement and feminist movement both earn their right to be absolutely lambasted for their pancake-face attempts at protecting rights while crushing others and they’ve destroyed most average joe’s ability to really ever care about any real issue they could ever face. Poisoning their own well, is commonplace. So, I shrug those jokes off, because I get where they come from. But, when Null says something like he did in that clip….it’s hard to root for him. It’s hard for me to continually give him money every month when I know that’s how he feels about me, “a risk”, “burning things down to the ground” I’m probably paraphrasing a bit but eh who cares. I know that you could argue that based on his defense of egalitarianism, he may not be arguing for exclusion, just talent and work ethic alone being a qualifier, which I agree on. I just can’t support that specific sentence and knowing that he said it so matter-of-factly, doubling down on it, it’s given me pause. So, I cancelled my payments, I won’t give BAT to him anymore. I did the same thing when Kendrick Lamar got mad at a white fan singing the lyrics of his songs the way they were written and I do it all the time. Maybe, I’m oversensitive and just proving the point that women and trans people are unstable. I have enough sense to think of that.

Picking at wounds

As I progress in life, I find myself reflecting on the various flaws I’ve always exhibited.This weird fixation I have on past memories, trying to fix things, bad moods causing restlessness.In the moment it seems normal but as I look back it’s obvious how much of an issue it is.It’s like there’s an open wound in my brain and I’m idly playing and picking at it with whatever I can.Like somehow my self abuse has been transferred to mental instead of physical.Lately, my hobbies have helped me avoid the dark corners of my idle mind.But I can’t seem to understand the new perspectives doing so has unlocked.I used to think that perhaps growing up I was only lied to, that past villains were victims.Now that I’m even older, I’m starting to wonder if anyone’s telling the full truth.I think about this now, in my early 20s, the dawn of life on my own, having made steps to some goals and accomplishing others.Reliability, self-sufficiency, motivation, courage, all of these characteristics and accomplishments I finally have. I’m not arrogant to say that it’s really that big of a deal, or that I’m even close to ever understanding things.But life finally feels like it’s mine, no chaos, no chewing out for clothes, no time to do anything for anyone but me.Selfish sounding, sure, but I love the fruits of labor.I guess it never occurred to me that I always could’ve been lied to by both parties and at that point, why care?If I’m truly going to grow and I truly want to let go of the past, then I need to do it for everything, not just my stupid internet drama, not just the mistakes I made and the way I hurt people in the past, but the things done to me too.It’s hard, not picking at your wounds.It’s hard because the pain is easier taken than the difficult task of steering your idle mind away from the sharp jagged edges of your bad memory shore. As the waves slumber beneath the tide-line and raise with a deafening static, the repeating sounds of things you think happened seem right there in the present, you aren’t near those rocks.You aren’t even near the beach.You aren’t even on the same planet as them, but in your heart, your soul and your mind you feel like you are.That’s why it’s such an easy task and why it’s a deadly one.At least now I’m acknowledging my own faults, I own up to it.I was fucked up and did fucked up things, but I can’t keep living this way.I gotta stop picking at wounds.

Other Face

Amirror stares blankly at eyes lacking sleep. Compelled by it’s own demise,bones show through the creatures tight skin, growing tighter by the day. Black holes surround the empty iris, their reflection showing hurt and wanting, cast between a silent film and physical soliloquy. Count to three and breath, exhale nails and self-made glass. No one looks, no one asks. Call upon mineral screens, create your own god. Deviate from a plan. Grind stones for blood for two hours, trade it for 30.When I close my eyes I see conversations convincing death, rigorous self-making. Stripping freedoms for massive improvement. You know about the mirror, the face that seems so distant, tired. That face that makes demons skin crawl.

On Shaving

Chapter 2: From abominable to adorable! Shaving, is way simpler than hair care, the problem however is that all the guides seem to just pretend guys don’t have insane body hair! Frankly, this is just unrealistic and can actually cause unlucky femboys and aspiring girls to damage their skin! No good if you ask me! A second issue is it’s your first time shaving that body hair and wow! look at all that hair you got rid of with that nice new razor! the first stroke is insane! This’ll be easy! oh…but…..now that you’ve made it halfway up…it’s just not doing it! Maybe if I wash the razor like the girls do in the movies? I…..what did I do wrong?! The problem is razors aren’t designed for long heavy hair. Imagine you tried removing years worth of body hair with a simple razor with small gaps! It gets clogged! The best practice when first starting out is to have a nice trimmer and get rid of the super duper thick, long hair. Don’t try to get rid of all of it! You’re just shaving it down to the point that when you bring a regular razor in it’ll be a cakewalk! After that, the rest is easy!

- Make sure your legs were hyrdated with warm water, yada yada yada pores!

- Apply a nice coat of shaving cream, I like aloe, shae butter’s fun too! A little goes a long way so play around with it!

- Start shaving! Go AGAINST the grain, start with small strokes, see if it gets clogged, if not long slow strokes work best! Going too fast causes irritation and means the razor can skip hairs! After each stroke, do that girl thing like in the movies! Now it’s working not too bad right?! Mind the back of your knees, your heels, and any curving surface! These areas get nicked easily and that’s not very cute! (unless you like that bandage aesthetic!)

- Wash your legs/bodily area with nice cool water, you may want to use an exfoliating scrub too, to prevent in-grown hairs!

- Recognize Reality. So your first time you realize wow! this takes a long time! Maybe you even nicked those areas! Practice makes perfect. Your first time may not be great! Lastly, shaving your legs is a repetitious thing. Once you do it every week/other week, those strokes can be longer. Just like anything else, the more you do it, the better you’ll be! I hope you can gain some insight with all of this! Most important of all, have fun! Remember that once you nail it, you’ll feel so good! Last note: Gendered shaving creams are fine, I mostly use women’s, never tried with mens. Razors are a scam, don’t spend extra money just to use the girl stuff! The blades are often the same, only the handles different! More blades help, 4-5 blades are best! Make sure it has a lubricating strip!

Lost art

The following is a collection of some works I never published, I know I talk about writing from raw emotion but these posts were written very much in the middle of arguments or breakdowns. I hope that in them you can see a bit of yourself and maybe come up with a better way to handle tough situations. The third entry in this post I just finished writing, it’s a book end to the previous two, separate works. Showing my mindset in the current moment. I hope it can help you in some way!November 1st, 2019 2:17 pmGet a life coach

They’ll help you line up a good approach

I keep tying to figure out how I could, when my path seems so radically different from others.

What if I’m too different?

What if that’s a sign that I can’t succeed?

What if I’m just stuck.

I’m trying pretty hard to not think I’m broken, but I’ve been feeling that way a lot.

Sometimes I have bad thoughts about pulling back everything. Deleting every account and just running I don’t even feel proud of anything because it all feels so basic. I look up to people just to despise their outlook, I know to seperate the art from the artist but it always seems so fundemental. I’m scared I’m never going to move past all this and really make something. Maybe that’s my fault, truthfully I wouldn’t care as long as my job didn’t make me think of suicide and if money wasn’t so tight.

October 29th 2019 4:57 pm

I exhale and shouts echo back

A response that highlights the understanding that they lack

You sold me comfort support and love

My dumb ego bought in with every chip above

I try to break free but my fragile wings are the size of a dove’s.

You snap my neck and cuddle the corpse with a glove.

I trudge through mountain city snow passively reflecting on my past,

Doing my best to satiate all these cravings that only last.

Every bad parent day, every self abuse,

every poor choice, every thought of a noose.

I hate how you explode at me then reel me back in with love.

Put blame on me to make me feel bad just to hold me and tell me how great you think I am.

“You do so much for me”

“I’m glad I have you”

“I don’t know what I’d do without you”

Contemplating ties, shattered frozen heartstrings stinging with every reverberation of the cuts you inflict

I stumble and falter every time, different face and name,

Hobbies, interests, vehicle, asshole all the same.

Intruding on my future, holding dependencies over my head like a keep-a-way game.

I didn’t ask for your help just so you could hold my heart hostage

using fear to keep me captive

Today

I have a lot to consider. Right now it’s winter. Has me feeling bitter. Haven’t heard a pitter patter in a moment I’m alive. Hoping that you understand right now there’s no chemical I wanna imbibe. I’ve got self acceptance from adolescence. Finally captured the essence and I know that it’s going to be tough. Life’s kinda boring if the paths not rough but I’m trying to be me, I’ve got a lot of scratches I’ve got to try and buff. I want to take my licks like a champ, smile on my face. Look back on this all like a man from outer space and I think I can. That’s the difference, glass half-full took a pound plus 6, finally learned I can smile and be a witch.

On hair care

Chapter 1: Hair care Hair care is the weirdest most semi-complex thing like…ever Most guides for women or even mtfs don’t cover it, maybe it’s because most women know what men don’t. Hairs, like skin, have pores. These pores expand and contract with temperature change, specifically water temperature. But how does this benefit you? Why should you care? Well my future snuggly little friend, lemme tell you! These pores affect how well they can absorb nutrients! Biotin, Kerotin, calcium, oils! All this yummy stuff that your hair craves!

So, how can you fix this?! Well, the best way to take care of your hair is to truly lock those nutrients right in to those fibers! The process goes like this;

- Wet your hair with cool water, not cold, room temperature is best.

- Apply your shampoo of choice and scrub it in, not violently, but gently.

- Wash your shampoo out with WARM water, this will open up those pores for the nice nutrients!

- Apply your conditioner, DO NOT scrub it in! Just make sure it covers your hair all nice and junk!

- Wait! Don’t wash it out immediately! Your hairs pores are like sponges! The water temperature expands em but it takes time for those nutrients to get absorbed! (I like to use this time for facial care, body care, exfoliating etc.) You should wait a minimum of five minutes!

- Wash out your conditioner with COOL water! This allows your pores to shrink to keep those nutrients locked in without leaving the product in!

- This is when wrapping up your shower, after the waters been turned off. Since I have long hair, the process is different. Long Hair: grab your hair all together and twist it lightly with your hands “wringing” a lot of the excess water out. Apply extra products, if any. Keep it grouped up, wrap in hair towel/turbie twist. Let dry! Short hair: Dry with towel gently. and boom! with any luck your hair’ll be nice and cute, the more you do this, the healthier your hair! Last note: Showering every day is often unnecessary and bad for your skin! Every two days is a nice balance of expense,care and hygiene!

Shallow Breath, Crumpled Paper

I’m on the bedOpening up woundsPulling out rocksCreating a monsoonBlack streaks down my fleshRunning longMy lungs are emptyGasping hardMy words are howlsThe pain cuts deepExposing hurtsShearing sheepI want to curlInto a ballLeave this behind meAct of fallAlien sensationWarm embraceHanding me tissuesBlowing my faceBalls of paperInside a bagMy outburst are nastyNo movie magic hadAt any momentCould happen againThank god I could cryThank god I could cry again.

A Mute Voice

Ithink there’s a dark truth hidden in every corner of groups, that despite the attempts at playing friend and bonding there is and will always be one constant truth. I’ve been on my journey for such a relatively short amount of time that it can be hard to say if I’ve even fully adjusted to my new reality. For every three steps I feel myself taking forward the ever-present fact remains that I am alone. Not in a full extent, but in one that is driven by society, I am misunderstood, misinterpreted and yet constantly trying to speak. It’s hard for me to put into words how surrounding this feeling is, how common it occurs, how frustrating, devastating and depressing it remains. The taste never gains novelty, like the bitter taste of burnt food that overwhelms an otherwise perfect dish. For all my talk of being split, it can be so hard to say that I am vocal, even harder to say I’m silent. My words often feel like they have no meaning, that no one is on my side. I get in fights that I always lose. I always take the high-road with people who don’t deserve it. I miss rain, I hate the artificiality of rain in my life. I hate the lack of the comforting smell, the weight of the humidity in the air. Maybe if it rained more I would have the courage to open up, despite my misunderstood nature, I try to be open, to be vocal. I suppose then, what I fear most is one day I won’t. One day I won’t want to talk, one day I won’t want to interact, one day I just won’t have the drive or energy. Perhaps that will be how it will seem, because you will be cut off, unable to hear what I say by choice not a dark abyss of silence. For how long can I feel unappreciated? For how long can I be misunderstood? I have a concept of time so surely the answer is not forever. Yeah, I guess sometimes I wonder why I give you my time. Why I let you hear my voice, or see my mind. Maybe I haven’t given up on you, maybe myself, maybe I should take the hint, how often we fight, how set you are, maybe I’m twice as stubborn. but sometimes after i talk with you after i fight with you the only thing truly on my mind is you don’t care who cares

4/6/21 – CorruptedDreams

Been a while since an impulse has left me smitten. Developed a new strategy based on bad habits, procedure has made me more rabid. I don’t really know or understand what I’m feeling right now, the more words I expel the more out of this world I bow. Maybe it’s numbness, maybe isolation taking root like a fungus. Maybe it’s idolatry, maybe it’s a fragile sense of self that I just can’t identify. Frankly my heart is heavy, my inhales have pangs of a minty chill that isn’t painful or a burden but is enough to notice and it refuses to leave. I don’t want to talk about myself to anyone anywhere, I’m so vocal usually but now I’m just deflecting every chance I get. I don’t want to talk about myself, write about myself, I barely want to write about anything or talk to anyone. Yet I’m here.

I’m here spilling my guts out on the one thing I come back to over and over and over…. my therapist might have a health issue, I can’t help but worry about the nature of a relationship like that. Asking so much from someone who could be…..

there’s a lot on my mind, I just don’t have the words. I’m sorry I don’t.

Testing Theories, testing myself.

Turbulent times ahead.

Suddenly sharply so many simple tasks to succeed in.

I’m interested in interacting with inconceivable challenges.

Especially examining every external effort I expect excruciating difficulty with.

Challenges constantly change and create character.

If I intend to create an impact.

Lots lack the levity and lefthandedness to let their limits lose their power.

Anyone after all, can attempt it and acquire the ability to allow themselves to be alleviated of it all.

I have to believe in this.

I write, I die. View all posts by Amelia Vitrica

Rain in a town without

There are only so many words that can come to mind at this point in my life. But only temporarily, that’s my anti-strife. I am compelled to exorcise the demons that once again prevent me from sleeping, the unfulfilled fears, the non-regulated negative fantasies that I hold with all my heart. For the last few months I’ve been tapering myself, from my sisters and my brothers. I have been keeping my cloudy mind locked away from others. Perhaps I view it as mercy, out of fear I’ll never recover. Every time this phase comes I’m reminded of the fact that I am sick. My mind plays tv static interspersed with the imagery of me being a dick. Perhaps it’s idolatry, an ego lacking euthanize. But I am compelled to prod my very being regularly with a stick. When I was growing up I was given a story my family would capitalize, about a girl who never was happy with herself, an image that never would crystalize. Spending hundreds and thousands on surgery scar after surgery scar, never seeing the beauty in the flaws of the natural art. Fear-mongering as it was I think I claimed a clear ideal well, everything has limits, checksum your ideals well. Have a capacity for the person you want to be, rationalize it with notions of what you’ve seen. Frankly I’m starting to like myself well, which means I’m starting to see what I really could dispel, a bit of fat from some gym-work and house-cook. Some unpleasant hair that makes me feel like a space-wook. Add a bit of heft to my front-load, slight aesthetical improvements that I desire feels like easy homework. I know I’m continuing my studies and this new life I’ve been given has so much room for new or improved buddies. New makeup tips, new hangout spots, new habits to engorge, new styles out, new clothing shops, new risks I can adore. My arts getting better because I can’t stop killing fear, from tracing to reffing to letting my mind travel without steer. I know now I have to do the hardest things alone, but when I’m clear I will not veer my self-image onto a throne. I love you.

I write, I die. View all posts by Amelia Vitrica

Scared Silly

Truthfully today is still a bleak day despite all I’ve done. I cooked two meals, I made a special hide for my bunny, I even cleaned up my home. Yet this under-cropping dark side of me is still here making me feel like I should just go. I’m hurt, hurt that friends didn’t value me enough to show their ability to change. Hurt over the fact that I’m so often in the dark wondering how cheated I am going to be vs how much I’ve cheated them. I’m hurt that friends don’t see the value in my interests or likes. I’m wondering, at my age, with my home-hopping ways, will I be able to make tangible friends? Friends I can shop with and get fucked up with and just be honest with? I’m scared my lax attitude towards recreational drugs will harm my career opportunities…..I’m scared cause I don’t know if I truly want career opportunities. I’m scared about surgery, I’m scared about appearances, I’m scared about who myself is. I almost had to get a swimsuit last week and my brain could do nothing but freak out. I’m scared, I’m a parasite, I’m scared that I keep thinking about giving up the things that were meant to define me. I lost my guts, my edge, my desire to open, is this all a re-hash? Sometimes it feels like one….

I write, I die. View all posts by Amelia Vitrica

I’m having a hard time – CorruptedDreams

I’m having a hard time believing myself, I’m having a hard time believing in you, I’m having a hard time being happy and I’m having a hard time living life. I’m fully convinced this life is my hell and all I have to do is change my ways and succeed in more ways than financial to be okay. but lifes so hard, the days I’m down everyone else is okay, the days I’m happy everyone else is low. It feels like my demons hop from person to person, but I keep my reality in check by saying it’s just a sad coincidence, I’m stupid and raw. I’m having a hard time getting over the fact I miss someone and I miss them so badly, so badly my mind screams at me that one day I may miss them forever, I hate it. I hate my stupid brain and it’s parroting, I hate my fucking brain and it’s damage I hate it here I hated it there I’m unsatisfiable because whereever I go it’s the same scummy patterns lurching into view. I hate my snappiness, I hate how it overrides me, I wanna destroy everything so badly, I want to break shit and dissapear forever I want to kill it all so all the guilt would fucking leave. I’m so tired of feeling hurt, biting and then aching from my own venom. I can be so low and morose and then I look up from my ipad and see my bunny, happily in front of a fan, and I wonder how bad of a mom I’m being, if I’m giving enough, if I’m truly loving. It all eats me alive, every day, every person, every animal. Am I being selfish if I open up to others? Am I being sheltered by apologizing or feeling the need to for being a bother? What is acceptable? Do both parties agree to themselves what’s healthy? I doubt there’s a rubric. I think I cried an okay amount…..but I truly miss those thigh shaking, chest quaking, air gulping sobs and moans. Anything else isn’t good enough….

I listened to a heartbeat and realized how comforting they are.

ba bump

ba bump

365 days in a year

ba bump

ba bump

through every sigh and tear

ba bump

ba bump

when I’m wrought with fear

ba bump

ba bump

it is always here

ba bump ba bump

never giving up

ba bump ba bump

even when I erupt

ba bump ka thump

till death draws me near

ka thump

ka thump

ka thump

it shall be my cup

it won’t shed a tear

My heart never stops beating for me

Why do I give up on it?

I write, I die. View all posts by Amelia Vitrica

Blue Thursday – CorruptedDreams

Dear Diary I’m sorry I didn’t write last night Dear Diary I don’t know where to begin. Maybe at the end? I’m sitting here writing this with a song on loop. It’s not Nier but it’s something that calls to me, it calls to me because it’s an emotion I can relate to, one I miss but feel I’ve never known. Such strong alien emotions, if I had auditory hallucinations it’d be blue. a rich creamy blue. I’m lost again, sorry. Everything was fine, I said what I wanted to and was honest, my pizza dough will rise, the sweetest dough in existence. The songs looped again, a very pleasant melody, I wonder if I know the words by heart? I do hope so….it’d feel respectful. I’m having a conversation, the middle of two walls, walls I so often end up between. Is it my nature? My actions? How often do I end up here, again and again. I’m satisfied but high strung, oh so high strung, and I feel like throwing up. Am I learning? Am I growing? I’m so addicted to my past, the past, never letting go. Is it because I remember so little that what wasn’t taken from me is so precious? So valuable? Am I trying too hard? I feel like I’m always here, I hate it here. another loop I wish I wrote faster but frankly, why care about time here, this is for me and always was. I’m heated, frustrated and upset, my hair is wet and I’m trying to make this pizza dough and fuck…..I accidentally put in way too much sugar…..I wonder how this’ll shape up. I said today I’d disconnect, why am I doing this to myself? Today can be good, today can be good, taking the bath was supposed to make things okay. I stayed in there so long, my eyes closed, my other talking to me gently, pulling massive splinters out of my leg. So then why am I getting damaged again here? Did I not relax enough? I feel so tired and so attached. Another loop Maybe it’s just me, but I’m overwhelmed, the numbers big and the concept of it affecting me even more so, maybe it’s time for that bath, a bath would do me good, just the heat of the water on my skin, the weight of my hair. Don’t think about the number, the fears, the distance, you’re safe and have wifi and clothes and food, everything is okay, it’s all okay. Maybe I should submerge, go under, shut off the world, because I crave that most, leaving here, leaving me, leaving it all, just talking to me, other me, whatever to comfort myself with all this weight, I’ll turn every hurt into a tangible concept and one by one we’ll work through them all, with logic and love and no conclusions or assumptions we’ll get rid of every splinter. Everything feels so much better under water. Maybe the songs gotten old I didn’t connect with Japanese at all today, I felt so frustrated, from step one out of bed I’ve been moody, I snapped at him for interrupting me, I apologized but I snapped none the less. Everyone else told me good job today, but I’ll always be behind them, the worries between us….these unspoken truths and whispers, is she distant from me, why am I so distracted today? Why do I once again attempt to control things, always wanting to iron out the wrinkles. I wish I could focus on this, I wish I didn’t keep failing these kanji, even that Neko book seemed so alien to me. Last one, one last loop. I was grumpy when I woke up, he told me that he came back at 9:30 and had already done x y and z, didn’t wanna argue or say I didn’t nap like he did, do x like him, whatever. Time to wake up, make him breakfast, a nice bagel sandwich, the one he taught me to make. But first he drags me to the couch and shows me this Neko Japanese book, a kids book, but I’m trying to read more, we go over two pages about Mr. Black Cat, I’m weak on the grammar but the vocab is simple minus a few. Learning about a stupid cat kinda helped me not be so hard about the fact I struggle to read a children’s book, never thought I was prideful of reading. Maybe today can be a good day. Song is still just as good.

9/3/21 Diary – CorruptedDreams

Hi dear diary, it’s been a while so I’m here because the things on my mind are special and I want them to come out once again. I had another breakdown, a real bad one and now that I’m out of it I can only feel the desire to express. I sobbed painfully, heartbroken because my thoughts couldn’t make it to a screen. It’s funny that when I’m here I have zero standards for myself, outside of trying new methods, structures, rhymes, it all happens so naturally. But with art, it’s so stiff and difficult, I wonder if it’s because I’ve written for so much of my life, in so many different ways. I still miss “them” I told myself that I’m a new version of a person so it’s okay that we don’t talk anymore, but I haven’t integrated it all yet. Truthfully diary it makes me feel safe knowing I can write in public, post a link on twitter and no one talks to me about it directly, I like it a lot. I like you a lot, I like that I have maintained a positive habit for all these years and outside of the blegh WordPress backed site, it’s mine. Completely totally mine to talk, to post art, to rant to vent to just be me. Every part of me is here, my storytelling, my politics, my philosophy, my puzzle making. It’s all so wondrous and I just hope I can grow with you as I continue into the fears of adulthood, more therapy, medication, new hobbies and friends. Honestly I’m so excited for the version of me that won’t be so damaged to emerge into reality. Maybe duality is my biggest fetish. Is that weird? I don’t think that is. I wonder if that’s why I sometimes seem fake to people. Special and unique in my own normal non-contrarian way. I hope I can live to see this all work out. I must admit I ideated again, entertained the notion of cutting my legs. I wouldn’t be able to hide it, so honestly that helps me stop myself a lot. I couldn’t stand hurting him that much. I think he’s the one diary, I really really do. If I do things right and be an adult, a good human. God the things to share. I love his taste, I love being frustrated at how he refuses to shuffle music, he’s so strong and capable and when things need to change he’s honest but fair. I need to give this my all, I need to cut the bullshit weight that isn’t productive. I love him so much and he fixes me up so well. I need to be better for him, I do for me as well.

Oh yeah I was nicotine free for a year.

Crazy how much I’ve changed.

How are you? – CorruptedDreams

I’m sleepless in bed. What I’m thinking about is everything, yet also nothing. The flip flooping people do, the flip flopping I do. I’m thinking of Paura Palmer and the bitter exes of lifetime engagements. I wonder if they think about me? I wonder if it’s healthy, me always thinking of others. “Am I like her?” “Are they like me?” ping-ponging through nature. It’s funny, moments before it felt like I couldn’t sleep, but now here I am, being drug through. I should probably cross-post dreams here. I’ve come to adore the language of dreams, the solitude of them, the safety and specialness of them. So precious, divine, unimaginably rare. If dreams are my mind sorting through memories, and no one else is me, that means my dreams are unique, one of a kind. Minus the banal ones. I wonder if I can be her. Obviously I’m getting closer but, now that it’s all transitional it makes me wonder. About good, about bad, about who I actually am. I think I still structure my life in mystery, desiring the flame of genuine interest. But if I define the terms of engagememt, wouldn’t that be making an unwinnable game? zzzzzzzzzz?

9/28/2021

Dear Diary

I feel so overwhelmed right now. It feels as though every single thing is hitting me at once. I can’t talk about it I can barely draw it I’m extremely agitated and hard to the world. Diary why do people suck so much? Why do they always do the same things? Why do I struggle to truly change who I am in all the ways I promised myself I would? I’m so frustrated I’m so tired I’m so angry I’m so sad. I don’t think I can do this or anything anymore I’m so fucking done with it all. I’m tired of the family, I’m tired of the guilt. I’m tired of not being able to fucking cry. God what is going on with me I’m so high strung I feel so goddamn divided it’s like every week now I’m fucking pushing or pulling OR DEALING WITH OTHER PEOPLES FUCKING SHIT MAKING EXCUSES FOR THEM KEEPING SECRETS FOR THEM IM SO FUCKING TIRED OF IT. IM TIRED OF FEELING ALONE IM TIRED OF FEELING ANNOYED WHY CANT I FUCKING CHANGE WHY AM I STATIC THIS IS FUCKING HELL AND I AM SO SICK AND OVER IT IM TIRED OF THE FUCKING REVOLVING DOORS IM SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOANGRY. I WISH I WAS CLEVER ENOUGH TO BE HALF THE PERSON THESE FUCKING PEOPLE THINK I AM. I hate all the promises I make to myself diary. There’s no reward for keeping any of them, no real breakthroughs, just time spent always on goals that never work out. I fail them always, I always fail them, I’m so sick of it. I’m so fucking angry at myself. Always FUCKING simple things up. Always! I ideated again, self harmed again, fucking all the way back to my shitpile. So much progress and the girl with hopes and dreams is just becoming a fucking monster. I don’t deserve anything. Ever. I don’t want to wake up tomorrow, but I will and when I do I’ll probably regret saying it all….

A ghost in a box with a bow.

The times that I’m low aren’t a product of me realizing I’ve made a mistake. So often I see suicide being commented on by people who aren’t my kind saying my kind “wakes up”, that they realize they made a mistake and can’t undo it, that their reality is fixed and they’re a freak being lied to. I always felt that was untrue but never spoke up about it until now, I didn’t quite have the words. So here I am, up way too late, pushing myself to cry and express my frustration with that concept. See I don’t think people wake up to those things, not in the way the other side secretly wants. I think my kind wakes up that there’s not “enough” that can be done, it’s a subtle difference but one that I think matters. I think about how I wonder if I can claim this mountain, if I can be who I want. To be honest, the paths always a silent acceptance that I’ll never be, that my friends hate who I am to my core, that my friends could never accept me, truly do so. That I slip up my voice and often around new company which makes it harder to go back and be me again. That, truthfully I can’t ever have kids, I can’t get time back, that I’ll always be different than. My regret, is steeped in a lack of forward progress, the final snap to reality is that I can’t do more. They say it’s regret, yet I feel none, I feel anger. Anger that I can’t do more, that things can’t be made right. That my friends will never “love” me the way I love them. As cold and as distant as I am, as over analyzing and paranoid as I may be. I’ll always be best in a closet, a ghost of the girl I wanna be. It hurts, I don’t even want to say more, I’m sorry.

c – CorruptedDreams

She’s got this stimpiness, it’s in her bones, and when she looks at it she can’t see her. She never sees her yknow? Never, only glimpses true but they a fragments always always colored by the stimpiness. The eyes just can’t be kind they can’t remove themselves from the stimpiness. The words are terrible, more said, less felt. Tired. So tired. Wish I could say more

Scared

My failures are impacting others

I was so scared that now it’s too late

I’m so stupid

I’m so stupid and if I kill myself it’ll only hurt him

I can’t bear the thought

I’m so fucking stupid

Dumb trash

Stupid fucking waste

No one gets it

I’m so stupid

Why can’t they just treat me like shit

Why can’t they just be fucking honest

Stupid stupid stupid brainless coward loner weirdo gross dumb fucking loser

Loser

A force that overcomes a Survivor – CorruptedDreams

Dear Diary,

Things have been much more….chaotic lately. Old friends contacted, ex-therapists called, nights where I scream ideations out loud, I think at one point I was disengaging my depression groove, now all I want is a pill that will kill who I am and stop me from caring. I hate my memories, which is funny because I repressed a few years away and yet now all I want is that. Sometimes I have this funny feeling like every two years my memory resets, like some kinda flunky robot. I had a thought the past few days about horror as a genre, usually the series are always a one night, one day survival. Yet I can’t help but wonder or be excited by the notion of a horror series that ended by exhaustion. Eventually all humans need sleep, eventually the system would be so damaged the only hope would be to collapse. Life feels like an analogue for that, not wealth or race like some movies, family and distance others, but a real unstoppable unmovable force draining you until there was nothing to give. Lately that’s how I feel, I’m finally at my Reki point and it’s beautiful. It’s cold and I don’t care, I don’t care about others at any point past them being okay. It hurts to say that, but everything i say here is melodramatic, maybe I put it out here so people can hate me. Or maybe I’m just sick overall. I know all that shits a lie, that if someone needed something I’d be there, but I’m getting tired and I just don’t want to wake up. Maybe one day I can make a song or a drawing about it, a force that overcomes a survivor.

V – CorruptedDreams

Hey diary, me again, I know it’s been a while, longer for me, but hey what’s perception right? What’s it all matter when I was in my own head anyways. Yknow every low seems to be redifined in it’s own way, a personal hell, a sucker punch that lingers longer than I’d wish, god, such a short song such a short song why can’t I feel anything I’ve been trying all day to feel and honestly every feel feels fake. It doesn’t even punch anymore…..I wish I was like…..her, yknow? She’s so sweet, she’s so stable, she’s so loved and honest. Yet she’s sharp and she plays everyone on it, stupid ditz has everyone under the impression she is that. I want to smoke so bad…..I can’t break that promise, god what am I doing splitting myself like this, dividing myself into pieces, why do I think it’ll make it easier? To chuunibyuu part of myself into some unobtainable demon goddess, like we both don’t suffer in the same way. I’m listening to the pillows, there, I said it. Was that so hard? Trying to scrape every bit of myself off of the songs I use to summon myself, god I loved that show so much, why doesn’t it feel the same? Why is my brother an utter trainwreck, my family rather, what a total clusterfuck yknow? They say he’s not even biologically there, what a disgusting rumor. I just miss things yknow? I miss freedom, i miss being me, I’m cooped up and pissed off, floating on a raft of zero dollars, I wanted breasts this year, this was supposed to be mine? I was gonna MAKE this shit mine, ughhhhhh what a drag. That’s why I’m sick, I’m here yknow? I’m right here, but I’m bot doing my goals outside of art, that’s why I’m regressing. God…….she came up again? Remember that? I probably shouldn’t refer to two different people as she, so the first she is me, a part of me. Sometimes when I’m low, weak, bored I talk to a version of myself, an alpha bitch. Is that weird? I asked my therapist and my friend and it seems like a lot of people do this. But it’s harmful because it means I’m not her? When in reality every day that passes I’m less me and more her, even this is her coping, I swear I hope this is my period. Isn’t it a bummer when your incense goes out? Anyways, back to “her” I’m gonna call her P because fuck it why be totally discrete. I was doing frustrating work on a project and searched Discord for a message only for her profile to pop up, cue thinking about her until even now. I wonder if she thinks about me, but I also know it’s bad to wish things upon others. God where am I gooing these days, where am I, where is that fresh love that used to be there? Why am I still not here…..why…..does adhd get worse in adulthood? I just….i need something, i need something because this is unbearable, please just let the thoughts wash away please I’m so tired of them, I am so tired what did I do to my brain. I need noise, I need it, I need raw existence something to rip me away. I’m gonna get earbuds and just stare at the cieling like I used to, I’m gonna go back 15 years and just be, please

2/20/2022

Hey Diary, it’s me again. If I’m writing here then I guess it means I bottomed out, I do this sometimes, I forget where I am but….honestly right now I’m feeling I lost everyone, none of these connections feel rich or healthy and my paranoia is pulling me to places I don’t like to return to. God I’ve been bad, I’ve been so bad, i skipped my meds and supplements three days, the things that were supposed to help my mind relax and I fucked myself. I miss everyone so much and everyone pulled away, it makes me want to push but I know that’s wrong, I’m ideating again like an idiot, I don’t understand why I feel sad and wrong. Why do I feel like a failure when I’m only succeeding, how do I make friends? How can I replace these people. I want to, it’s not right for me, they’re all so distant they don’t understand me and they don’t want to talk why am I doing this again why do I keep letting this happen. God I need professional help.

the home away from home

[transmission lost — image only]

2/26/2022 – CorruptedDreams

Hey Diary, seems like lately I’m back in the swing of writing in you again, honestly maybe inwards the only way to go right now because it feels like everyone left me. Every conversation goes no where, the words don’t process or people just play games with me. I’m not really sure what I did, maybe I acted up one too many times, maybe it’s the same thing I always do. It’s troubling the way I separate myself from others, the paranoia I get, the way I let my thoughts wander and run, I’ve been doing bad lately, really bad it feels like everyone has left and I’m highly frustrated. I’m not letting my brain relax from this constant barrage of people who aren’t here and ultimately don’t matter. They matter to me but, do they truly affect my life? Does tearing myself apart for this, idea of I don’t even know what help? I’m gonna level with you, I know therapy is around the corner and that that might open the door to making a tangible cut from all this internet shit I’ve devoted my life to, but it’s so hard, it feels like suddenly everything is ratcheted up and fucked. It’s affected my ability to do art, which is not fun, if I’m accomplishing so much then why does everything truly feel so difficult? I’m scared shittless of the motorcycle, but I have to push through this obviously. I have to make good on who I want to be, maybe it’s okay to just be nice to myself for now? All this pressure, it’s hardly real, these people aren’t my neighbors, they don’t define me and most of them don’t even know me they don’t have the same shit. I recognize this is a hair away from “I’m unique in my pain and no one understands” but of course people understand, broadly, they are the same as me. But that’s just it, only I can do what I need, recognize what I’m going through really focus in on what I’m feeling and truly cope with that. If these friends don’t give enough? Don’t act the way I like or just don’t see what I see. Then it’s not that they’re bad friends, it’s that they just aren’t my kind of people and I can keep them close or far and special to me, but I have to realize that just because they are that way doesn’t define them. It doesn’t mean my paranoid thoughts are real, it doesn’t mean a plot or sudden change is here, it means that truly I need to recognize that not everyone is how you like and that is okay. There are 7 billion people on this planet and somehow I got someone to love and be with. I’m sure there’s room for more friends for people who are tangible, but maybe for now I shouldn’t look for others to help bring me up, maybe for now I should be on my own and working on myself. Focusing on what I’m going through, how people are….I wish I didn’t struggle so much when I give the same advice to others.

The Big Bang

Ultimately the irony doesn’t escape me.

I think now is the point when I’ve felt like I’m able to control things more. For such a long time I was tied to the notions that I reacted to stimuli, rather than control my self. I think I did this because of fear and also because I could always point to it as evidence of me not failing, can’t fail unless you try right? If anything has to be said, it’s that I want to be better and do better. I’ve moved past the guilt of most of my actions, atoning for them by moving on, forgiving my younger self. I think my art is getting better and, I think that now it’s mostly for me. Though I do ride the occasional jealousy demons back, its certainly not as invited. I’m also practicing radical honesty, discarding my opinions defenses on fragile basis’ saying what I actually think instead. To err is to be human, so it is that humans are hypocrites in some form, why not own it.

Preparing for this has been such a mental ordeal, an ouroboros and rats nest of paperwork, labs, meds, homebrew concoctions, scheduling, evaluations. As I stand at this gate I must ask myself, is this what I want, what I need, or is this the process being seeming more than what it is.

I don’t think I need this, to most people now I am what I am by default, in this way I now am truly learning what it is to be and not be.

I wonder, how far I could have gone on my own, unaided. For so long my inaction felt created or destroyed by the molecules in my veins but now having gone through a downcycle and upcycle far surpassing my previous output I can clearly see. It’s me. I care because I care. I am doing this for me.

The questions of this being a bad choice are long gone now, as the tests confirmed my hoped and unwanted fear. It is fun to be me, I just hope other people see it and understand it. I hope they understand that if I make it through this, the meshing of identities will naturally take root, as the walls coalesce into their own.

I hope, I hope that I like these results. Because, this is a want, one that I had to fight for so strongly.

Dreams 3/5/22 – CorruptedDreams

A war was going on and we were checking the backs of trucks for misconfigured equipment, wifi antennas with bad ips and ports. I remember fireworks too.

Nintendo started putting intrusive Ads in video games, much to many gamers ire, eventually Microsoft put in ads of its own, mocking Mario, mocking prices, etc. There was something about a Mario game having a serious turn, though I’m unaware of why.

Week Was A Loss

Flowing river Too much water to bear Lack of Oxygen A thousand slivers Story covered, again Poignant words Marred by sand Sediment and grit Tar and vines Draw what you see Not what you think Pulling blanks Crushing white capsules Weighing point oh four Tedious and backbreaking Lifetime chore Repeat every 10 days Do it some more Removal of the ritual Removal of another My sibling never be an uncle Damage has already been done Helpful source never wanted one Blinking cursor Waitng there A warm black streak On white for care For craft For Creation Despair A word whose commonality you never realized until you started to care Week was a loss Hopefully not a fortnight I’ll see when I get there Were we just born to have sex? To spread ourselves? To be another? Kids aren’t vessels to live again, they’re new lives, if consent is valuable then where does that put reproduction? Would I have consented? If others have not? If having children is a net sin then, do I mind losing it? Was I ever going to have it? How is this going to end? Have I suffered enough? Will I ever be at peace? With my memories? With my family? With me? Why am I back here? What do I keep doing wrong? I know there’s still time.

3/26/22 – CorruptedDreams

Hey Diary, it’s so funny yesterday it felt like the words were all flowing really well, I guess listening to the pillows always puts me in a big writing mood, I think Kinokoteikoku might still but honestly maybe that’s passed, doubtful ultimately. Isn’t it funny how life is this thing where sometimes you go back and rediscover yourself? Recently I binged the artist Savant, a lot of the stuff got me through High School. though ultimately I can’t help but wonder why, so many tracks are mediocre, entire albums bad save for the “good one”. Maybe life is kinda like that? We spend time on things for just those precious rare nuggets of value. I’m happy with the work I did so far, I got all distracted and didn’t write enough, ah well! I drew a lot today, fixed a lot too, I think things are on the right path, I’m going to keep working at it.

4 5 2022

Hey Diary, let’s talk, you and me. Frankly we both know what’s coming and obviously this is the DMS that we come back to, we try things the normal way, find it totally unbearable and go back to our way. Each time progress is made, each time a new chapter and ultimately things only turn out for the better, we get forgotten then the only burden is a memory, memory fades, fixation replaced, boom. Now granted that last parts the issue, replacement instead of closure. This regression or safety mechanism instilled is probably the same one responsible for the missing year, it’s engrained but not taught, the answer is going to have to be self improvement unreliant or effected by others.

Make lists of desires, ensure their written as will, not try, not maybe, not want, will. Engrain that until sub becomes con, it’s proven this can be done and won’t be stilted so long as it’s tied to a familiar.

Never settle or allow curiosity to override action, try then see, scientific method. Do the makeup you will, see how it pans out, react.

Fixate on the image of what’s to come, no false downplaying or inflating, the results are clear if you stick with them.

Possible nightly/daily support methodologies? Audio, rituals, patterns whatever.

Therapy, honesty, re-evaluate every previous assumption understand and clarify.

Seek, destroy.

Diary 4/14/2022 – CorruptedDreams

Hey Diary, been a while since I said hi. Sure I mean it’s only been a few days but it feels like those were a month in my head. I broke down again, you know why. Sometimes it feels like I’m having to compete against the world, even the act of finding help becomes a comedically long arduous process of phone-tag and virtual receptionists. Didn’t hate the art I did most recently, should probably push myself to re-do the rest of my draw-a-box studies on the right paper, at least then when I catch up with myself I can tackle these depth challenges anew. It’s funny, Telepurte does the superimposed line act too, lots of people do. I remember only a few weeks ago feeling silly for doing it. Wouldn’t you know it, right as I’m writing this I finally get a call from my provider about me picking a therapist, life’s funny. Honestly today I’m kinda of in a dopamine haze, it’s soft and warm and shoegaze, maybe it’s because packages are arriving earlier, maybe it’s yesterdays art, maybe it’s just that things are nearing that head. Contacts, therapists, surgery, god knows I’m gonna go back for vocal training again because I just never like being bored… I hope that you like me putting up the drawings, I know it’s not all of them but doing the whole thing would take forever, maybe it’d benefit me, maybe it’d benefit others. I think to me you’re like….my bed, not my current one but my dream one. When I type here it feels like me, it feels like all the marred cacophony of voices and pain goes away. Either that or said voices and pain finally get to break through the surface. I think I love him Diary, not like the others but….he just understands me and doesn’t shut me down for even my small weird things. I hope he’s happy, truly truly happy, I want to be his wife, his caretaker, I want to do the banal things he finds so useless, I want to, well, I already serve. It’s nice yknow, I can be this edgy, sharp, bombastic thing to everyone, but to him I can be fragile, esoteric, explosive. My negative imagination often conjures up imagery of him in harm and I scream in anguish every time. How I can’t fathom what I’d do, who I’d talk to, how I’d make it. It scares me more than I scare myself.

Diary 4/19/22

Hi Diary,

I wish I could say that the post I had in mind matches the one that I’m typing now but ultimately, unfortunately, it does not. I had it in mind a few days ago I would hop on here, spilling a happy diatribe, do my best and move on. Maybe I need my ritual again, maybe my programming didn’t take and all my old nasty ways if thinking are showing me that I’m not quite ready to kick the crutches off. Am I coming far? I guess I have savings now, a challenging job, probably a career to be honest. It’s just a shame everything outside of that is so lackluster, probably the worst state it’s ever been in, my social life is marred, seems I like that word, marred by fear, anxiety, competition, paranoia. My mental state is low, same as the people I reach out to. My art is…..well I’m embarrassed by it, but I’m not sketching anymore, not doing pose studies, honestly I’m doing awful at the 50/50 rule. That’s my problem, I’m sad because it’s not where I want, so I get scared and don’t draw more, thus ensuring I don’t have fun and don’t draw. Remember how I used to get sketches out daily? I do, I need to get back to that. Maybe that’s what tomorrow can be for me. A real solid step, maybe I didn’t own today, maybe I wasn’t my best V I could be, but I can do better. I’m me yknow, I can’t give up, if all my friends can’t help, if all my rivals are doing better then I guess I just gotta push myself past it. I always do, I gotta just realize that I’m okay, with friends, without friends. I’m okay. I mean, I’m not, I have deep seeded issues, I get caught up and then there’s old me, being a bitch, stalking, doing my usual gross stuff, gross thinking, evil thinking. How come I love stuff but I’m scared to try, like at this point fear has only killed me, I probably should stop being scared of anything ever. Wasn’t that part of new me? “A real solid sense of purpose and self fulfillment” that’s what I said, yet I’m so “afraid” then I chastise others when they get overrun with it. I’m willing to be a hypocrite in lots of ways but I think I’d like to end that one specifically. I should go nuts, just fucking do the shit I’m afraid of, I don’t have to go full throttle, it doesn’t have to be black and white, I need to embrace that grey. I always struggle with it diary I mean you know. Yknow I don’t feel like total death anymore, still waiting on the new therapist but I’m sure between this, the medical procedures, betterment I’m doing to my looks, aesthetic, health, it’s probably nah, definitely gonna pay off, and look once it’s where I want I’ll find a new challenge, I think my life should always be new and difficult. I just need to work on this bad complex I’ve developed. Goodnight diary, tomorrow the ritual, then absolute danger.

Diary 4 28 22

Heyhey Diary,

It’s nice to speak with you again, after all so much went down since, I nuked things and set things back in a reasonable place, well I say reasonable because I of course had to figure out what was going on within me, I felt those same feelings well up again, those same fears. You remember how a long time ago I mentioned that for some reason I don’t appreciate those who love while chasing those who don’t? I think I forgot that was even an issue I was having, talking to some people really helped iron that out, feels a lot better. People told me to focus inwards, which I feel undermines the issue, undermines everything I’ve felt for months. But ultimately yknow it’s not so bad, in a way they were right, I’m caring way too much, I want these things from these people who, and this is not a dig an insult or vindictive statement in any way, can’t give them. I let it eat me alive, I recognize I’m not entitled to it, I knew the entire time, but I still felt hurt and it overran everything. Just as my art, my creating and modifying. All of it has to come from me. I do have people who provide what I need, I stupidly forget them in favor of a chase I’ll never win. I’m going to try interacting more and recognizing those people more than those who cannot or will not (Unfortunately some are in the latter category, I do not blame them) todays busy, but I have a strong spark in me, I hope I get the downtime to execute it, I wanna draw today! I wanna do! I’ll put up the old sketches soon, I wish WP didn’t make it a pain to post em all~

Diary 5/31/22

Hi Diary

Been a while yeah? Honestly lately it seems like I start writing to you and then halfway through I get stuck and can’t quite finish it. I’m getting worse but that’s part of the rehab. At least that’s what I tell myself, obviously I can’t hold these feelings for months. I still am not great at sitting and talking to myself about it, I just don’t take my mental status seriously. Diary, I always envied and liked those who were comfortable In themselves maybe I just never was able to give myself that, a lot of what I enjoy I attribute to others for reasons I can’t really explain. I finally finished Bebop, even made some bell peps and beef to go with it. I thought it was a weak ending, bf says it’s a guy thing but yknow, I got what I needed in Faye, a woman trapped in a past she can hardly remember, she finds what she wanted is gone and succeeds in letting go. How do I let go? Sometimes old anime is hard for me to consume, it makes me crave cigarettes, silly I know but present all the same. So let’s see, scared, attached, extremely paranoid and cognizant of it to boot. Definitely not present, definitely not in control. Cycles gotta be broken, gotta find my way in this. Look I’m lucky, sometimes cute, passionate….in both ways. People have to be able to change my issue is the lack of peaceful days, it makes me feel like I want revenge or peace from something. Vindication even. This time I slept on it, this time I discussed it and made real connections solid and merely took my backpack off, instead of cutting the straps. Somehow there’s gotta be an answer to it, detaching instead of destroying. Not caring, or…. Finding an alternative habit. It’s so strange but ….a mental habit? Like me talking to her? Or thinking of a busy freeway and focusing on the grass and breathing? Converting from one to the other seems so difficult and stimulus is about the only way I can cause it. To get better at anything you have to be in the work spot. Maybe I should do my ritual again, I did really fail to do my morning routine, so hard to stick with things, getting better sure but, I can do more. I really do need to sit down and think this out, I wonder if it’d help me cry too.

Goodnight Diary

Dreams and Art 5/13/2022

I had a series of loosely interspersed dreams all fixating on a group of hackers that were taking down evil corporations, details are kinda rough but when things got weird was when one of the hackers entered a VRChat-esque game where a kid with a lain avatar was running away from a killer. Obviously this was like a 10 year old on COD type situation and I was fearful the hacker would be mean, but instead the hacker played with the kid and talked with him. It was a very endearing scenario and made me happy. I feel like I also had a dream about figuring out the Xbox 360 modding issue I’ve been having as strange as it sounds. There was another dream, about my appearance, it feels really important but unfortunately I haven’t been devout enough to my dreams lately to remember.

Diary Dreams 6 5 2022 Speak Like A Child

Hi Diary, it’s been, what, a week? Time goes slower now, or maybe a bit faster. I wanted to tell you about my dreams, even if it hurts knowing that I had them. Dreams are weird and wonderful, to me a dream is a reflection of what someone’s thinking about, their fears, their flaws. I’d be stupid to ignore them the way other people do, sometimes to me a dream is my inner way of discovering a truth. When I was with one of my exes I remember a dream where i was trapped as his car drove straight for me, stuck on a bridge, attempting to scream. How can I not look at that with slight awe, even remotely impressed. Today mine is impressive and depressive, a sign of well, I suppose I don’t need to spell it out for you, nobody knows me better! Wow, it’s amazing how reading my notes, although shorthand even got a dream I forgot. Three audial visual dreams 1. My current boss was an air attendant asking for a gate pass, I was going to a funeral and was panicking, I handed him a gate pass and he was so happy until he found it to be the wrong one, eventually after scrounging enough I found a second in my wallet and it was the right one, although he acted as if I had never shown him the first! Angrily I made him pull up the footage of me handing him the first because I felt…crazy? gaslit? It’s so odd feeling that way in a dream, certainly not the first time it’s happened either! 2. I was with my family, there was something about an item being “worth at least a grand to make things work out” shockingly the item when opened was a welder, “10,000 dollars” my dream family valued it at, then somehow it became them me and my mom in a living room, mom was arguing with me about of all things a remake of the film “The Mask”, I was explaining how it would flop and she just started getting upset, telling me to go home, like I was 12 or something? I slapped her face, not with energy or malice, but kind of in a playful, know your place sort of way. She was shocked, completely totally shocked, I remember being afraid yet, nothing came, nothing happened. My notes don’t capture the ending, they usually don’t. 3. I didn’t notate this dream in this mornings rush but I remember enough to try. I was in a chat room with an old cyber friend, arguing I think? heated? and I remember waiting for them to respond and when they did they did so with a drawing. a drawing of me, making fun of my stance. What’s impressive was how the drawing was visual to me, how it was in this friends style, the same line weight, the same color choice, the same proportions. It kinda pissed me off how good this fucking dream drawing was I will not lie. but that’s when I awoke, super late, super tired. Lately I can’t help but ask myself, where am I in the hearts of others? Where are others in the hearts of me? If I’m angry or feel misunderstood or off-balance, hungry or desperate or addicted or….feeling whatever I can quantify my nasty emotions as, where’s the root of it? Somewhere deep down in me these feelings emerged and started to fester, maybe I never took the time to just, process this. I’ve been hellbent on going chapter to chapter to chapter, group to group, bridge to bridge. I never even dealt with Ocerak calling me a ….god what was it princess? drama princess? spoiled princess? back then even back then I was so fucking jealous, so insecure in friendships in trust. Maybe it was because my middle school friends fucked me over? How in high school I got outed by the guy I used to stay over at? play games at? the guys sister introduced me to mcr and creature feature, the first time I played F.E.A.R. was cause of them, but obviously this parasite was in me before HS. If I wrote Ocerak’s name in a poem I wrote on paper in 2013 then that means I was like this nine years ago. I suppose I have a long time to talk to myself, to iron this out. There’s gotta be a hurt there, a repression or some nodule stuck in the fucking center of all of this. Maybe it’s not everything wrong with me, but if it’s a component I have to deal with it, before I even remotely think about interacting or getting lost in the waves of “always doing” again. I’d like to be mature, to act my age, to speak my mind, to stop all the noise that I inflict upon myself every bad day, the memories and impulses and desires, the imaginary what if’s, paranoid imagined memories. I know that’s not all I can be because I feel when that leaves. I feel the clarity and the sheer raw neutrality of even the air I breathe. I won’t deny who I am, what I’ve done, I won’t downplay or lie about it diary but I know it scares me and I know I haven’t done enough, I haven’t taken it seriously and I know I can do better, I want to do better. When the air feels like a drink and all I can do is feel in awe about what I can do with my time. When everything is this wonderful beautiful haze and I know that everything I’m scared of is nothing! How the only thing separating me from anything ever is time and effort. If it were a button I’d smash it, if it were a switch I’d flip it and lock the door. Anyways, thanks as always diary. You really salvaged an otherwise pretty banal day! I accomplished a lot today and although none of it is an impressive step, all of it in total is another push forward in a long line of righting the many wrongs I’ve built upon. So thank you diary and let’s gooooo me! Alriiight! Do your best, do your best, let’s go me! Let’s have some fun!

Diary 6 17 2022 I Think I Can Aka Cyproterone Mono Therapy Disaster And The Monster Ouroboros

Hi Diary, It’s been 12 days, but honestly I wanted to write to you about two ago. Unfortunately, each time I sat down my page stayed blank, or I could barely push myself to do this. Today however, is special, today is another one of those “my days”, but I’m getting ahead of myself not that it matters. So last week I reconnected with a friend of mine who’s also on hrt, we talked for hours and eventually I found out their stance as well as their therapy is different than mine. They were honestly so cool about the whole thing. Eventually they linked a document and when we talked about AAs they mentioned depression, turns out the pill I took every day? Miiiight be a depressant as a side-effect, color me shocked right? I mean geeze I spend all this money, crush the fucking things and essentially “make” my own daily doses. It’s very comedic, so while I’m sure my depression is clinical I’m on mono-therapy now, right now I’m solely observing, cypros doses were low so honestly I don’t expect the magical “wow” moment but my spirals do seem slightly easier to control. In turn I’ve doubled my E apparently mono therapy is just as effective? We’ll see lmao. I’m officially in the market for surgery, I wasn’t a coward but yknow isn’t refusal to live also cowardice? I don’t have all my life to waste, unless it’s on cool shit. So, what have I been up to? I got my japanese finally back under control, WaniKani is murdering me but I’m beating that stack down, yesterday it was 90 reviews, now it’s 30-40. I got back into art, quite a few days this week I’ve sat down and actually studied, pose studies, color studies, all boring and all for me. Which is nice yknow? It feels like for once I can do things for me, which will make it even sicker when I want to share it! There were two people I really missed who I thought might not contact me once but one of them did! They said hi and honestly that was enough for me. Withdrawals are…..they were up to the max earlier this week but I’m getting through. I’m trying to be extremely mindful of my time, no substitutes unless it’s a mental habit. I’ve picked up philosophy, as much as reading and listening to quotes can be but there’s something there for me. Specifically Aurelius, that dude says some stuff that reads as white girl live laugh love, yet also it aligns with that old Faye mantra of dying every day. See it’s not that it’s literal, but it is that it should be treated as such. Time should be valued and so should you! One way or another these neurons are gonna fire in the right way and boom! progress! Oh Diary, we’re so far from there but so so close all the same, I’ve noticed my pareidolia is coming back, kinda exciting yknow? Well Diary, I think that might just be it for now. My heads swimming with happy imagery and the next time it turns sour I might just have the tool for it and the next and the next and the next! Until next time Diary, I wonder what song I’ll be listening to then?

Diary 6 24 22 Eight Days Till Anime Expo

Heyhey Diary, I was spending so much time busy on a dopamine rush that now that I’m crashing I think it’s appropriate to talk to you. Lately my daydreams have been a lot more vivid, feels like my spirals are a lot easier to control too, I catch myself all the time. I catch myself thinking about others, memories, conversations that never happen, Anime-Expo’s in eight days and yknow I didn’t hate how I looked in the Junko top! It’s gonna be hot and gross but so busy! I’m really gonna have to have my head on a swivel and map out all the booths and panels, I still might fuck it up. I caught up on Japanese, even did lessons, but I can’t shake the feeling I’m not taking me time lately. Sometimes when things get hectic I take a few minutes and just stare out the window, pacing idly as I clear my head with fresh views and air. I’m very fond of that downward dog exercise, especially when you extend slowly upwards for air. Me and him really talked, for the first time in forever it felt like he spoke his mind, maybe it was mean-spirited but I needed it. I was holding on to a stupid scrap of internet addiction, getting all the stimuli and abused notions from it. Diary I don’t want any weird shit at this con, I don’t want fights or feeling awkward or lost. I guess in a way it’s like I don’t even trust my stability. I cried diary, I got mad, I forced myself to draw and listen to AJJ, remember how ever since seeing them live the recorded albums never were quite right? Turns out they did PWCEP live, I got about halfway through before I had to set my stylus down I was sobbing so hard, or maybe my drawing was that bad 🙂 My anatomy’s getting better, seems I’m doing a better job blocking things out which is nice, even using it for anime hair isn’t always bad. I have this idea, I haven’t written it down so maybe putting keyboard to pixels is the best way to prevent forgetting it. It’s called ValveHead, it’s this story of a girl who’s twelve when she has a valve put on her head, she has to wear her hair in a bun to cover the thing up. It’s kinda like flcl meets R+V, I should honestly, even for a joke draw the conceptuals yknow? Even if it burned me out maybe one day I can do it, I’d love to put some of the stuff I think about here in a more visual medium. This isn’t exactly the ego-heavy dopamine-dripping entry I wanted to make but I’m happier having waited for a lul. Honestly, I could probably do with a nap, maybe some weird dreams.

Diary 7 1 22 One Day Till Ax

Hi Diary, I wish I could say this time I’m coming to you would be a happy one but I’m crashing hard and honestly it’s my fault. Japanese is still progressing, I’m doing art even though I can’t say I’m liking any of it, even the pose studies I thought were decent last week are just appearing awful to me. I’m being hard on myself again, always so hard on myself. The amount of things that can go wrong at AX are shrinking but my stress is only growing, I really need to be happy these next few days. I have to sew my cosplay, the joke is that if I had learned to sew so long ago things like this would be so much simpler

^^Is what I drafted yesterday^^ Truthfully I couldn’t finish it, yesterday I just must have been intent on having a bad day, I came home from work, went straight to sewing my buttons, watched two episodes of lain, then washed my face, vented to a friend over SMS and ended up sobbing on the floor. I guess it was all really built and pent up huh? I spent a few years of my life unable to cry so honestly I’m very happy that finally I’m getting all this crap out of me. You know I never exactly planned it but right after AX I have therapy and another laser treatment, suffice it to say it’s….extremely overwhelming and I guess I was just swallowing it and saying “well it must be because of the con!” but anyways, mopey stuff aside, I’m super fucking excited! I don’t know if I’m gonna make it to every panel or get whatever merch I want but it’ll be very interesting! Sewing buttons kinda made me realize that maybe next year I’m gonna get a blazer and make a real-ass authentic Junko top (truthfully I think maybe next time I should do a new character). I think if I lost enough weight Faye and Jinx would be very fun. I might post a photo or two if I’m not too embarrassed. Today I have to get my vaxx test and vaxx wristband so I won’t need it tomorrow, honestly my list of things needed to be done before the con tomorrow is short, none of them I can do at work unfortunately but I’m gonna try really hard to stay positive! Once this is done it’s back to art and motorcycle focus for me.

Diary 7 13 22 Do You Think Girls Get Told They Have Puppy Dog Eyes

Hi Diary,

Been about almost two weeks huh? Hard to believe, I got caught up in some major whirlwinds and kinda let the diary slip, I’ve been working on art, truthfully I feel off balance on progress. I feel like I’ve kinda shelled myself off emotionally, too much action, too much mental density. I’ve been fixating on smoking again, typical self destructive old ego. I started dressing like,well me, I even went all out for no reason recently, pretty sick yeah? I need more skirts, sometimes I’m noticing that if a fabric or shape is mismatched it ruins a cohesive outfit, wonder what’s going on in my head to cause these changes. The daydreams are getting odd too, still positive and dreamy but more grounded. You remember how my rooms been for months? Art not put up, stupid clutter? I cleaned it all up for therapy appointments and honestly now it feels like such a grounded hub. I think I was running from my own space, even myself.

I slept on it, but ultimately it doesn’t seem to really help. Seems my current mode is fixated on, well, being separate. I don’t think I’m in a bad mood, nor really an ecstatic bombastic one, in a way I feel…. neutral? I have my same dreams, hopes, and there’s also a slight nagging of memories but I can’t exactly feel or engage with them. Off-topic but sometimes I wonder if candles are a scam, they’re just about the most dogshit way to freshen up a room, or get a scent at all. I did it diary, I started working on my emotional piece, then I started drawing well, you guessed it, Danganronpa HAHAHA. Lately though I’ve been challenging myself to yknow, not be stuck on only one thing. I’m back on a electro-noise kick, I went through Nirvanas discog again, I just don’t think their quality is super consistent. Sneaker Pimps is selling that “lost” feeling I’ve got lately. Do you think girls get told they have puppy dog eyes? Well, I’m meandering but I guess lately that writing buzz hasn’t sunken in. So excited to draw my core.

Diary 8 4 2022

Heyhey Diary, Lately I’ve been kinda playing classroom frog in my spare time, seems like 1/4th of my week is just therapy or dissection. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t half stressful, sometimes it feels like I have to weigh authenticity with saving face, I’m only really ever good at pretending when it’s for fun not so much appeasing another’s qualifications. Questions that people ask seem personal and you never get a sense for it until you read the whole set of pages dictating your whole life’s story, “did I really say that?” “Do I really feel that way about those people?” “How the fuck did I know that at that age?”, odd questions that sometimes you can’t help but lightly deny with phrases like; “She must’ve misunderstood.” “Why was it necessary to mention that?” “That’s definitely wrong, was she paying attention?”, though I suppose it’s possible I’m merely just hypercritical. I remember being really pissed when I got called over-analyzer by a friend when I was young but thinking of it now? It totally makes sense yknow? I wonder if maybe I should re-evaluate my methodology of pose studies, if spending twenty minutes on twenty poses is any better than spending twenty on two. Still scared of color as well, I wonder when exactly this fear stuff started? Still seems like a constant to overcome, yet another to add to the pile. There’s something else diary, lately my mannerisms have shifted, I’ve noticed that lately silent acknowledgement is my go-to rather than spoken word, strange yeah? I want to play into it but the fact it happened is a note within itself, no? I guess maybe I prefer not speaking to merely waving my hands, actually I guess it’s more my fingers. Something about this rhythmic fanning movement it just feels like it’s mine. Like a signature, it’s a silent semi-unique acknowledgement “I see you” “words aren’t necessary to convey this emotion”. It’s all so difficult diary, some days I feel like I’m being swallowed whole by a life that’s a thread away from chaos and dystopia, other days it feels like I’m living out a fantasy, achieving everything I set out to do. I got through my first few rings of dissection, a few more and I might just be able to get what I want, though I do question if what I want is going to equate to a better baseline of life or merely placate some inner demon. What a difficult ordeal.

My Spider Named Tomie Passed Away Today

The past few days I’ve been wanting to type up something, anything, last year around this time was pretty bleak for me too, though I didn’t really expect to write this in this state. I’ve had, a rough week and an even rougher day. I hate my mourning periods because it means numbness, I’ll be numb for a week, two, disconnected and completely unattached. before this I was upset, frustrated, even had to admit to my therapist I ideated again. One step forward, two steps back. Tomie had made a webbed-shelf about two months ago, initially I was concerned because I thought she might not be able to drink her water, occasionally I’d clean up the structure so she never boxed herself in, gave her mealworms more than she needed, I always worry especially because sometimes you can’t directly see the kill. Then one day I see her, this was two weeks ago, and I fucking FREAK out, she molted again! molted again! I couldn’t believe it I mean, I thought she was supposed to do that once a year! I was so relieved too, it meant she was healthy. I kept doing my usual care after she recovered so she wouldn’t get stressed out. Then today I was going to feed her and she just, it didn’t even look like her, usually spiders are supposed to have a “death curl” but she was so webbed up in herself, genuinely looked like another Spider webbed her up. I still don’t believe it. I got her off of her shelf without disturbing her, putting her on her eco-earth but…..she didn’t even twitch. I feel like a bad owner, I feel like I SHOULD be more sad, I feel like I should hurt more, instead of this heavy ever-present numbness. It’s not even cold, it just IS…. I’m frankly just, so frustrated, weeks I’ve spent, hell months now being a guinea pig for a system I don’t even like (the opposition sucks too by the by, fuck your optics, be a person not a dogma), I finished my first art lesson reviews, even remedials and now have to sit on my ass for two weeks drawing anything that isn’t lessons. I got hit with a wombo combo double edged hammer after I had to expose myself in every way to medical staff only to then draw one of my most hated drawings the next day. I still haven’t recovered, I’m still pissed and doubtful and sorrowful and just outright fucking disgusted. I’m so bothered and hung up on memories, AGAIN! Memories living totally rent free in my head, knowing full well I’m supposed to control them, not the other way around. I re-did the drawing today, not fully but most of the line art….I don’t hate it. I hope Tomie enjoyed her shelf, even if it did kill her (or me not breaking it down more so she didn’t dehydrate) it was an impressive structure. Genuinely impressive. Maybe she knew? If tarantulas can feel pain I hope it didn’t hurt. She was a good killer.

Tomie My Schrodinger Spider 10 13 2022

This one’s a long-time coming. Hello Diary! It’s been a while yeah? Two months, and a lots happened. Tomie, my spider? Not exactly dead, but you know that. I wasn’t sure, when I saw the molt, her container was empty, I was really depressed, honestly, the whole week was ruined. The stress, the anxiety, fear, general state of things and then boom, there goes my friend. It really wrecked me, days went by, therapy came up, getting dressed 10 minutes before, slide my large mirror closet and BOOM there she is! Alive! Happy! Somehow some way my murderer escaped her enclosure leaving behind her molt to convince me of her demise. Stupid of her honestly, I don’t know how she lasted, how she didn’t get pancaked when I slid the mirror. Though I have no shame in being outsmarted by an arthropod, I should’ve understood that a corpse being wrapped up in webbing is…bizarre. I had never seen a spider corpse before either, now I know. I was able to finally clean her enclosure, gave her so much love and care, she even has a new lid and is always within my periphery. I hope she likes it. I’ve been hard at work, updating the site, making it mine, doing my best in every way. (Except Japanese, Japanese is so FAR BEHIND) We’re almost halfway through Inktober and I think I’m doing very well! Riding my motorcycle, taking good care of myself, cleaning up everything so well, more makeup, more learning, I finally finally have my consultations scheduled! 18th and 25th! Wow, that’s almost a week away! How time flies. I’m glad this entries finally done, you have no idea how long it’s been in progress.

Diary The Promises We Forgot 11 6 2022

Hi Diary, Frankly, I just don’t know where I want to go with this writing today. Usually I don’t, I just know that you’re kind of my like….you’re the place I go when everything is fucked or everything is okay. I’m not okay diary. I’m really really not, It’s all a brain stew of problems and I was so close I was so close to sorting through some deeper trauma before of course, inevitably the popgoestheweasel of my fucking life cropped up. I haven’t been eating. I’m sorry, I know I should I KNOW I should but everything in my head is just that stupid static. I’ve been good, yknow? I’ve been well. but then everything I knew got fucked. I can’t talk about it with anyone but you because I don’t want to. I’m tired of fileting myself to try and convey any of this, to people who no fault of their own are unavailable when it’s raw. Always unavailable. I try really hard diary to listen to others, I do. I used to think that maybe all this was something wrong with me. That maybe I was actually a bad shoulder I forgave myself, I grew up past it. Once I saw that I wasn’t the problem it hurt. There is nothing in this world that harms me more than seeing how everyone is nakedly. I promised myself I’d start to be honest, to speak plainly, to restrict myself from acting on sudden impulses and urges. I’ve done well, no stalking, no sniping, no actions. I said my piece then stepped away. It’s that Silent Hill 3 track, “letter”, just started playing. I bet if i took the total time spent listening to that track I’d have beaten that game! I’m just trying yknow? but everyone’s left, or in the process of leaving, always in that twilight of leaving. The security I feel in others needs reaffirming always, that may be on me, but being forgotten is real. Vengeance is bad. We know this. Right, the problems, sorry um. I got a pretty bad letter, essentially life-wrecking, you know diary but I won’t spell it out. So I had to spend maybe, 4 hours on the phone with various family members, telling the same story, asking for help, getting chastised and finger wagged. Coming to terms with being fucked. The last phone call was a party popper, a poof of “silly! this problem doesn’t really exist! We wouldn’t do that! This problem doesn’t exist and actually you suffering was for nothing! NOTHING!” I feel like my face fell off. I still do. The shame and utter self hatred I feel is so …. it radiates diary, it throbs. Like a fucking ulcer but in my liver. So I did what any stupid tinkerer girl would and took a bubble bath with mixed drinks and several hours later my head was spinning on the couch as I tried desperately to sleep. Sounds awful right? It was. Emily’s better, took me like 300 bucks to get her done but she’s done. Maybe I never mentioned this but I couldn’t get it to go over 65 mph, now it runs great! I haven’t even touched 6th gear once yet! I kinda am too scared to. but it’s melancholic right? I mean now, the projects done. A done project is an end. Maybe I should let her be, should probably take similar advice. I’m off E. I know, I know, “what the fuck? You just found stability and had a ratio and everything!” but basically, I want to try and…save what I can diary. You understand, in a few months I won’t be able to go back, so like all good climbers I will have a safety net, if in months time I can’t do the deed then it’s already too late and I’ll accept that. I will close my book and thus my generational tree branch will be all there is. Just a few months, besides I doubt me stabbing myself would be something pleasant to add on top of all this. Everything else is likely a result of it, the disinterest in music, the urge to shut up like a telescope, only eating dinner, the lack of daydreaming, inability to go past sketches. The bad: Psyches in shambles, what’s new. The good: False alarms are better than bad news, I ride my motorcycle every day and I don’t notice any flaws with it (I kinda have my eye on a jacket, yknow the one),I went out and had fun for Halloween. The best: I feel a lot better having written this, even a lil’ hungry. I hope you like the sketches.

The Big Bang

Ultimately the irony doesn’t escape me.

I think now is the point when I’ve felt like I’m able to control things more. For such a long time I was tied to the notions that I reacted to stimuli, rather than control my self. I think I did this because of fear and also because I could always point to it as evidence of me not failing, can’t fail unless you try right? If anything has to be said, it’s that I want to be better and do better. I’ve moved past the guilt of most of my actions, atoning for them by moving on, forgiving my younger self. I think my art is getting better and, I think that now it’s mostly for me. Though I do ride the occasional jealousy demons back, its certainly not as invited. I’m also practicing radical honesty, discarding my opinions defenses on fragile basis’ saying what I actually think instead. To err is to be human, so it is that humans are hypocrites in some form, why not own it.

Preparing for this has been such a mental ordeal, an ouroboros and rats nest of paperwork, labs, meds, homebrew concoctions, scheduling, evaluations. As I stand at this gate I must ask myself, is this what I want, what I need, or is this the process being seeming more than what it is.

I don’t think I need this, to most people now I am what I am by default, in this way I now am truly learning what it is to be and not be.

I wonder, how far I could have gone on my own, unaided. For so long my inaction felt created or destroyed by the molecules in my veins but now having gone through a downcycle and upcycle far surpassing my previous output I can clearly see. It’s me. I care because I care. I am doing this for me.

The questions of this being a bad choice are long gone now, as the tests confirmed my hoped and unwanted fear. It is fun to be me, I just hope other people see it and understand it. I hope they understand that if I make it through this, the meshing of identities will naturally take root, as the walls coalesce into their own.

I hope, I hope that I like these results. Because, this is a want, one that I had to fight for so strongly.

scrapped post, Jan 2023

Hi Diary, Suppose I’m probably overdue. I usually was doing pretty good at being on-track, once a month vents here kinda made sense, actually I think I was at my best when it was once every two weeks. It’s been cold lately. Really cold. This is probably the coldest I’ve ever felt living here. While I do enjoy a cold snap I guess my emotional levels regarding the affair are just completely well, flatlined. It feels like lately I can’t exactly express myself the same way. I’ve built up this level of socialization that means that sappy poetry and double-speak don’t exactly belong. A new year yeah? A new year for me to grow and be better. to study to exercise and clear my head. Personally I feel absolute anxiety. I’m anxious about surgery, anxious about making friends, about stability. So so anxious. Fought so hard for this stupid surgery, so fucking hard. Bloodwork, getting examined mentally, oh the fucking gates i’ve jumped. Now that I have a date? Feels pointless, feels like I don’t even want it. Future me wants I guess an honest try, to not make excuses to not let myself down. To work towards this. I’m sure that’s what future me wants. back to not crying. I’m probably honestly completely overfilled, with anger and misery and bitter resentment. feelings of guilt for feelings of jealousy. Probably feelings of being alone. Wow this sucks. I can’t even focus on my writing.

Self Fulfilling Prophecies

Hey Diary, Right now you’re just about the only person I want to talk about this with but man I’m really fucking going through it, everything should be fine but it’s not and I can’t help but be angry for it. I have no release, I feel angry, I have unresolved emotions and want to lash out but i cage myself so I don’t get into a fight. A normal person would just sob, but I can’t. I’ll scale back, zoom out if I can and talk about what exactly I’m doing. I cheat myself by not taking things seriously, I get aware of the fact that I am not perfect through my own observation or someone elses. Then I give up, don’t try and then chalk it up as a proof that I am incapable. This escape offers me the ability to just, continually self-destruct. I have a lack of faith in myself. I don’t trust others, but that’s likely so I can fail, to not trust myself. So, what do I crave, the validation of others or the validation of myself. Of course, I can do more, of course I haven’t tried, of course dying is easier. Dying is always easier. If I pull punches, I get to be sad when my punches don’t land and instead stay in la-la land. I’ve been collapsing like this on myself, over and over. Maybe I haven’t earned a good cry, maybe I have. but it’s good to get this on paper. I can’t give up, giving up would be the dumbest thing I ever did.

Diary 2/16/23

Hi diary, guess it’s about that time yeah? I’ve been told I should write this week, to take time to do something I want. It’s all falling apart, it all feels fucked and I’m so frustrated, I’m so angry, I’m so irritable the more I speak the less I feel the rawness and it just ebbs and radiates from me. I am really trying to convince myself that I’m wrong, that I’m not fucked, but it keeps coming back and I keep getting kicked when I’m down. I don’t want to spend another year on this. A year, can you believe it? A whole 12 months. I just want things to be okay. I am tired of being sad, I am tired of being surrounded by ghosts, being unable to cry. I don’t know why I won’t let it out, I know it’s me. I know it’s just me being afraid to cry.

Funny how a single screw can be the straw that turns blue days sour. I just don’t want all this to be for nothing diary, I’m tired of the soft rejection and I want a win that I can control. I probably am tired too.

3/1/2023 Afraid of the Night Sky – CorruptedDreams

Hey Diary, Sorry this entry’s dour, so shortly after the last one too. Honestly, it’s just that I’m so, down, and up, and up. Seems like even my gas lasts only a few days to just stay in one version of myself, kinda can’t help but think I’m falling apart at the seams. I wish I could get a grip and get a handle on myself but I’m so angry, so frustrated, so doomy. It’s the fucking everything that makes up every nightmare that days seem to be. I keep letting myself down, letting weekends go by, poisoning my own wells, not pushing through this malaise for something greater.

My tarot deck says that risk is bad right now but, inaction is death in this regard. Do I have it the worst? Likely not, but that’s not practical nor does it matter. So, I’ll taper risk in the obvious areas, the places where I’m fucking up, and crank the amps on this circuit to something I want, something I desire. I miss working out, yoga, God the past few weeks have felt like forever. I wish I could say I could even appreciate what all this was for, but the hormonal whiplash utterly sucks cocks. Maybe I gotta burn some shit down, build up from anew. I’m a sucker for phoenixes, a massive one. Imagine if they were real. (Just now clicking that they might actually exist *in people*……fuck)

Am I close to something here? Is this shit all just beyond my veil of comprehension? Is this concert an opportunity to reignite my flame? forge a connection? fuck if I know diary. So pissed about the art thing, so tired of the visuals clicking and the majestic mystery being replaced by “wow that looks like utter shit” guess it looked less bad than last time but honestly, I find my sketches more soulful, I’m always freer when I can just fill something. I’ve been quitting on myself. Maybe I’ve been running away too, yeah, I’ve been running away.

I’ve talked about flow before yeah? It’s this theory that a person can…. attain a state of being something akin to water, flow is, really my personal home it’s where everything stops being noisy and I can bite into something warm, something fulfilling, not quite sure where Buddhism may fit into my personal religious hodgepodge but if it is Buddhist, it’s been quite welcome in my life. Something about writing this garbage word vomit always makes me feel better.

For some reason putting all my strange and absolute brain-blended feelings and emotions out there just makes it all flow out. I often wonder, if I had used this as an outlet earlier in life if I would’ve repressed as much as I did or gotten my amnesia but getting a kid to take meds was a feat enough regardless of whether I needed them or not. I have been quitting on myself because I’m afraid of getting my hand burned, I don’t want to face failure or less than stellar results, I don’t want to face the results that I feel I know will occur.

So I run, I give up, I stop making progress, I cheat and that pain is easier. Fucking idiot, that’s not the me I fought for. Bad habits die hardest, I can do better, there is no monster under my bed, there is no demon here to chastise me and I will never be called weird again. (Unless I want to be) Ace of swords is, supposed to be a good card, the only one I didn’t pull that wasn’t inverted, the only one that felt anything but cautious.

So yeah, I’ll temper myself, I’ll refocus I’ll come back into my own and stop covering my head with the sleeping bag, I’ll gaze at the stars and reject my fear of the darkness in the night sky.

A Breath

Consider this an interlude

I made a solid breakthrough. Finally, a long time coming. The last few weeks I’ve been on an alternate path. Expressing myself in the tangible, focusing on something that wasn’t my focus. I reached my maximum capacity for projects, felt that challenging spark and overcame.

A real win.

A statement that I have echoed time after time, solid progress something to be happy about and I got it. Finally after so long I feel like I can focus on myself again.

Yesterday I took a real bath with real aromas and for the first time in so long didn’t have to think. Clarity.

Time to take over again, be happy yknow? I just had to prove myself to something more than myself, fresh perspective, fresh smile. Put the bim back in bimbo. I feel so invigorated. I feel like I learned something real and tangible, like my hobbies can intersect and make sense. I have real worries but I can’t drift towards them until necessary. I’m creating, tweaking and hammering my way through new ventures. I’m really proving myself wrong and as long as that stays true I know I’ll be on my path. I’ll keep following rabbits and stay true.

Time to pull a hand out of rubble.

Bodies On The Beach

With her last breath she lifted the body up onto the bleached rocks.

Her scarred ghost-white body making a light smack as it hit the sand. She had known that it was going on for too long, that the wounds were lethal. Even still, she wanted it to end this way, she wanted her last act to be for something, even to just save another. Deep down, she felt she was undeserving of her chassis. That her body was a curse more than a blessing.

Perhaps if she had thought more about it she would’ve realized that dying here would mean less people to impact before she left. Perhaps her proper lesson should’ve been selfishness to preserve her nature. Her spread would widen, the web growing with each action. As it stood, the time for analysis was long since past. She was long gone.

Axiom

There was a draft that I had started when I fully intended on writing about a week ago. That draft was only a sentence which to me indicates that the feeling I had never overcame the burden of the act of writing. This feeling is not unique to typing, often times I feel this to an extreme degree with calligraphy, I wonder if this feeling is indicative of the value of the expression. Is it easier to speak with my mouth because those words are cheaper? Of course halfway through that I realized how often I type garbage into voids so, maybe it’s only a volume issue, perhaps only handwriting is valuable.

I believe I have come closer to a nexus of myself, a place where my skills and knowledge all seem to intersect, I often struggled with the ideas of myself being an artist. I thought I could only modify, that grew and grew until I became painfully aware that I was, in fact, creating.

That fragile part of myself lodged in the twilight of my life a precious thing that I continue to feed, sometimes I scare myself when I smirk as I win at something. Worried I could grow cocky. So I’ve been feeding my peaceful side too, mandatory tea, mandatory breathing, it’s not quite the void that meditation is but it’s a start. I’ve been listening more, trying to acknowledge my wrongs, good habits, good choices. I still have a lot that I’m worried about, I’m still not quite free but I’m learning, I’m growing and every day who I am is something that just makes sense.

Things won’t be this easy forever, I know that, I know that where I am now, is the same as where I was before. I was there, now I’m here. I took steps into the unknown and explored the world. As the world grew so did I I grew right? Right? I think I stayed small and the world seemed that way but in reality, I stayed the same and only realized that I undervalued the sheer mass of this world. I’ve gained something precious within myself, something that comes from not one part of me but everything. A manifestation of the me-isms that never could prosper, this idea of filling the gaps. You remember right diary? I used to despise my desire to fix, because I fixed the wrong things, I never understood that my steps forward were sometimes backward. I never realized taking time sometimes meant moving forward.

Click

Hi Diary, Hi and hello. Sorry that I left you in such a state, I even let my hosting lapse so I had to do quite a bit of work to get everything back to the way it was. Quite cumbersome. It’s been quite some time and I have….changed in so many ways, yet in others I have stayed the same.

I trimmed the fat, finally found some semblance of cohesion, lately my breakdowns are less frequent, more laser focused, it feel so much better. I picked up some new hobbies, some new projects, considering using planning in my daily life. I have a skincare routine, I workout, I even do yknow what, (secrets between you and me are the best). Back in mediating, back in caring about makeup, back into books, even thought about daydreaming again. I met an old friend recently and he said “V ya look good, you look happy” and I was, I smiled. Everyone post modern seems to be this “work in progress” always trying to get better. Personally the meta commentary is boring to me because I like people who grind, I like those people best. Course I enjoy wallflower people too, as long as they aren’t lazy. OH AND I’M WRITING AGAIN! Maybe I still have some baggage but…I’m starting to think about the pain so much less. It’s unfortunate that the happy posts are always so much shorter. I always go “why did I write” but I think one day I’d prefer to wonder “why didn’t i?” Love ya diary, everything can be okay. 9/4/24 ^Always date these

Dissection

Sometimes to go forward we should step back.

I think what I want to do right now more than anything is list all the parts of myself, and the purposes of this is to try and understand if these are things that I can possibly sustain or if I have become somewhat lost. I feel that without a target and without a stable aim being lost is prone to happen. We cannot burn for years in the fire, a blade must be sharpened precisely. Maybe I have many irons but let’s pick which to sharpen and see if any irons might come in handy sooner rather than later.

- JPN

- ART

- Technology

- Security

- Guitar

- Voice Training

- Fashion

- Skin Care

- Mechanics

- Electronics

- Engineering

- 3D Printing

- Coding

- Debugging Bots

- Streaming – You-tubing

It seems that I have essentially the tinkerer-maker side and the creative wallflower side. Many people likely don’t have so many things clashing so it’s only natural I would feel doubt. I think going forward doubt should be replaced by change, fear by nourishment. If I could spend an hour in agony that is an hour I could be spending taking care of the parts of me that I felt are in neglect. I should keep up with my planner and take records of my progress.

12/11/24