this whole website was created after i kept getting banned from social medias. realising i was running out of places to go and still had plenty of things to say, i decided to build a place i couldn't get banned from! so welcome to my open journal and my many thoughts..
kört dexter is not responsible for any mental damage caused by reading anything on this sitei hate when love feels so big and powerful and i feel so angry and vengeful. i know the best way to support my dear is to set aside my daggers and poison and forget what affronts have been committed to us, because, at the end of the day, whether or not i return the opinion, these, as well, are people he loves. i want to be angry. i want to be vengeful. i want to fight for him, but this isn’t my battle. at the same time, it’s so hard to watch him suffer, and so badly i want to growl and gnash my teeth and keep him safe, but anything i do affects him tenfold. there’s no way to win this. there’s no way to protect him, and it makes me fucking angry. they know how much i care about him so they’re acting like two-faced conniving cunts, acting one way towards me and sending him off to do their bidding and like aaFFgGbebngng. there is nothing in the WORLD that makes me angrier than people fucking acting like that, and i just have to . sit here and take it. i don’t give a fuck about the ableism and homophobia they’re peddling towards me. i’m fucking mad about the way they can’t say it to my face, the way they’re putting him in the middle of it, the way they’re treating him like some sort of disgrace. i hate that i’m helpless to it all. i hate that i’ve failed him. i hate that i can’t just take up arms and fight for him somehow. i just have to sit here and watch him suffer. i fucking hate this. it’s madness. these situations are what creates the very thing they fear and expect of me. this kind of madness is what causes “killer skitzos.” nothing is more destructive than putting a fuck ton of emotions into someone and then sticking them in a fucking box where there’s nothing they can possibly do to free themselves from the situation. this isn’t even a schizophrenic specific phenomenon. it’s a catalyst for anyone who can’t manage their emotions properly and/or who’s dealt with powerlessness in the face of tragedy before. i’m not writing this to say “ooo, i’m gonna snap and here’s why.” i’m not going to. i’m much too wise for that. what i am saying, is that they’re lucky that it’s me they’re doing this to. i know how to handle these situations. i think that’s what frustrates me the most. i know every bit of psychology and have complete understanding of these actions. i know why they’re doing what they’re doing. i know what reaction is expected of me. i know what the situations push people to. i know that i’m powerless.. i know that the best thing i can do is to keep my mouth shut and my head low until the exit is safely in view. i’m fucking angry that there’s no more than that that i can do. i’m pissed that i just have to have these emotions, and that, because i have full awareness of them, i’m burdened with the inability to just, as they put it, “flip a switch”, because, if i do, i’m claiming full responsibility for my actions, and i can’t hurt him like that. i’m fucking powerless and any action i commit makes me a snake biting its own ass. i just want to see him safe. i want to protect him somehow. but the only protection i can offer is, what feels like, next to none at all. this shit is nightmarish.
on a hot summer’s night
some 7,000 miles away
i lie here yearning
and thinking of how close we are to the past
so much has changed
things are better for us now
but here we are
still in the 80s
i get to be the one who’s loud and proud
but as far as anyone’s concerned
i’m oh so lonely
neither of our parents can know
we’re adults
or.. at least… i am
he’s on the cusp of it
but they still can’t know
it’s unsafe
they’d do everything in their power to sever us
and to belittle us
i live in the openness and the AIDS paranoia
he lives
in sheer terror
of even a whisper of what he is
making its way out
i was outted
so i stay over
and all eyes pierce me
i’ve always been outted
so i tend to take the road of wearing it on my sleeve
i get the pain out immediately
i’d rather be screamed at
than backstabbed
i’ve tried it both ways
it’s more painful when you’re close
i feel the way their eyes move
for now
i’m pretty
and i’m white enough
i’m palatable
but what about when the mask falls
for now
they wonder
they create their versions of what happened
behind the closed door
paranoia consumes them
and sometimes it comes up
like the froth on the lips
of a rabies ridden dog
their just waited for the right thing to slip
so they can point
i fear the mask of politeness will slip
when it becomes clear what i am
i’m an invader
and i stole their son from them
i’m scared
so i play the part
of tortured artist
it’s what’s expected of me anyway
i get my bloodwork done
every three months
i hate it
but it’s security
but it’s also fear
i go to a clinic for fags
a lot of the people there are HIV positive
i feel like an asshole
because there’s a lingering fear in my mind
what if their needle
is reused on me
it’s irrational
i feel like it’s homophobic to feel that way
but
fuck
i’m so scared
i watch people marry
and parade in the streets
i’m so happy for them
i want to be one of them
but right now
with where i live
and how i love
i fear
we’ve had so many wins
and things are so much better
but in so many ways
they’re the same
and i’m only talking about being gay
i love getting gussied up without reason, but it is always rather sad when no one cares to see. i sorta feel like no one ever really cares what i’m up to, but i’ve kinda decided to use it to my advantage again. just sort of fading into the shadows and doing everything behind the scenes. people don’t really need to know, ykno? it is still a little sad to have all these hyperfixations and crafts with no one to talk to about them, though. i always fight with myself over whether i should just be loud about it or keep being mysterious. no one asks, so why divulge how i spend my time? it’s more fun to become a completely new person in the blink of an eye. no one notices until they realise they don’t know you anymore. it’s fun in a melancholy way. i don’t know. i don’t know how i feel. i guess i’ve just been thinking more and more how no one really bothers to ask me much of anything. i get asked how i’m doing, but no one asks for elaboration on it. it feels. weird. i feel like i’m the only one caring about conversation half the time unless it’s in the server. i’m always asking everyone about everything else, and i still don’t feel like i ask enough. i don’t really like to try and insert my day or interests into conversation. it feels like there’s always more important things to talk about. i’m sort of tired of talking about the same things, though. deep conversations with no real depth because they tend to be things we both already agree on or know eachother’s opinions on. ironically, summers seems to be the only one i have genuine conversation with much. we speak about things that i can actually get passionate about. it’s ironic. i don’t think we’re really friends, but we have nice conversation. i think she cares sometimes. to some extent. maybe she does care. to overuse the word: ironically.. she and pat are the only ones having genuine conversation with me besides just ensuring i’m not going postal. i feel like i’m expecting too much. i know i haven’t talked to anyone about this, but i also sort of feel i shouldn’t have to. i don’t know. i feel like i’m too apologetic, but i also feel like saying this is rude. i feel like most people see a very two dimensional person that they believe they already know everything about so they don’t bother to ask. that kinda sucks; when people get so caught up in the motions that they sort of forget that people grow and learn and change and have new interests. ik it’s stupid, but i do feel really sad when i try to share things with people and i get absolutely no feedback or borderline told i’m being bothersome. i like sending posts to try to engage and start any sort of conversation besides the usual. i like to listen to music with people. i like to sit in silence with people and just breathe. just know someone is there and that they care. they care enough to just fuckin sit there with me doin fuckall. i love to share movies and interests. i wish they’d reciprocate that. i don’t just mean listen to or like what i like but share with me as well. i just want to share things. i want to show people new experiences. i want to be shown new experiences. i don’t want to just be some mental patient locked in a room who’s intercom is buzzed from time to time asking of he’s okay and giving him false hope of something a bit more meaningful. i don’t really want to just fade into the background and just be something that’s around. i think that’s how i feel. i feel like an already won prize that sits on a shelf that you get excited about again sometimes and you show to everyone new and then you just sort of faze out again. i don’t feel very good =/ goodnight, seattle. dr. frasier signing off.
you’re on my mind again. not in a healthy way. you’re never on my mind in a healthy way. of course, you were never in my life in a healthy way so why would you be on my mind in a healthy sense? sometimes, i think about what never was. i feel bad for thinking it, but it’s human to think such things. we’re mournful creatures who put pain on a pedestal, and, to quote a rather fitting movie, “you met me at a very strange time in my life.” i was at my weakest but masquerading as my strongest. you tried so hard to latch yourself into my psyche, and, what can i say, it worked. sometimes i think about what would’ve happened had you not tried so hard in the shittiest way to win me back. what if, instead of rebounding, you had actually listened to my woes? what if you would’ve changed? but you didn’t. that, in and of itself, is telling. that alone is reason enough to not sit here and think of you. he’s reason, too. he’s so wonderful. he’s everything i’ve ever hoped and dreamed for. it’s dumb to sit here, think of you, and dwell on our time together. our time would never have been as fulfilling as this last year, without you, without dek, with him has been. i’ve made mistakes. i’ve learned from them. i’ve grown as a person. something i gave you every opportunity to do but never got the validation for. worst of all is that inkling in me, that one that knows: had you not tried to rebound with her, i’d be with you today. i’d probably still be on drugs, my head shaven, and my glasses in the style of woody harrelson’s. i’d still be rev; you’d still be voDKa, and i would sit there every night holding my .22 revolver to my head, spinning the barrel, and checking if i had the balls to pull the trigger. i’d be ending frey before he could really begin, and i can imagine the sorry ass speech you’d do at my funeral, because i know, despite what you said, you’d never have the fucking gall to end your life over me. you’d say some utter fucking bullshit, and i’d be in a closed casket that i’d said, more than plenty times, i never wanted. my wishes wouldn’t be respected. they never had been. they never would be. i feel so lucky to sit here today with your crumbling world behind me, breathing a sigh of relief, because, truly, there is so much to look forward to.
i’m crying for the second time today. i feel really guilty. i feel guilty for the emotions i’ve felt and for how i’ve been regressing lately. i’ve been a bit of an asshole. not so much outwardly, but inside i’ve felt angry. things have felt unfair and past aggressions have caused me to start isolating and becoming somewhat standoffish. i was doing really good. making strides and getting a lot better then i do this. i feel really fucking guilty for it. it doesn’t just hurt me. i can’t do this shit anymore. it’s not just me. hurting myself isn’t just hurting me. i’m not a singular. i’m not a stand alone. i can’t act like this. that’s hitting me really hard right now. he’s very sweet and caring and here i was, for a brief moment, considering just going to bed without saying a word. i don’t have a lot of time to talk, but i don’t feel good about myself. i’m getting better at getting past these moments and becoming more aware of them. they’re selfish acts. i just need to get better. i don’t know if any of this is coherent, but it doesn’t really matter. i write these for me. i’m not writing correctly when i’m writing for others. when i do, it’s usually directed at pat which just goes to show how unhealthy that is. i have to get better. i have to keep trying. everything wants to kick my fucking ass right now, but that’s no excuse to be a jackass to myself and others. i just need to rest. i need to breathe. i need to be aware. i think i’m gonna rest now. i have a lot of work ahead and little time to sleep.
i mean to post this this morning, but disregard my last post. i don’t even know what the fuck i was on about. that shit was a moment of weakness. pat, if you’re reading this, fuck you. i hate you. go to hell. i just have a thing against taking down old posts. it was on my mind in the moment, and i said it. there’s no point editing it out to fit some narrative. i just want to make it clear that i do not sanely feel that way. i don’t want you reaching out. i don’t want to waste anymore resources helping your pathetic, sorry ass. whatever i saw is so far gone now. you’ve repressed it. i’m not a psychotherapist. i want no part in unrepressing it. if, someday, you manage to, congrats. i still wouldn’t want to try again.
i miss you, but i don’t miss you. i miss a mask, and that’s pathetic. maybe i don’t though. there were glimpses. glimpses of a real person. they seemed all too human. like 90% of the time you were a mask, and 10% of the time, you were the boy with galaxies behind their eyes. sometimes you were so real. so pretty. if only you could always be that genuine. vulnerable instead of manipulative. i wish you would’ve accepted your nature, looked me in the eyes, and told me all your thoughts. i loved you. i still kind of do but not that face you wear to look so scary. i hate voDKa. i don’t want to see that. you had a name for that didn’t you? one we made together. i was rev and you were ___. you were something. but now i can’t remember. you remain as henrietta. i guess we could say leech. i assume that’s the name of your mask. i hate that mask. i wish i could crush it. i wish i could liberate you.. but you don’t want to be saved. i’ve come to learn that. you lure in your saviours. tell yourself they’re your capture. you justify your shitty actions to yourself. no amount of therapy will save you from what you refuse to admit to yourself. you were so beautiful. why do you hide? i wish you’d stop hiding the way you feel. lying to me then trying to brag about these new people you’ve found. you don’t really love them. you know that. you tell me i’m lying, but you know that. you know i’m right, and you know you’re using them as yet another way to hide. maybe you don’t consciously realise that part, but i do. i hide, too. i hide behind the lie that i saw myself as a father figure. i didn’t. i still don’t. but i wanted you off my ass. i wanted some way to make a relationship awkward so you’d stop trying. saying i saw you as a brother would be such a flimsy lie. it’d be a glass house. i watched you lie back and tell me you saw me the same. i know to an extent, there is some truth there on your end, but i know that you don’t agree the way you told me you do. it sickens me and aches my heart to watch you lie through your teeth. especially when all i ask for is honesty. i watch you, time and time again, lie to me and give me honesty that would be “oh so hard” to be open about so that it looks like you tell me the truth. “if i open up about something difficult, he’s bound to believe i always tell the truth.” but you don’t. you find it easier to tell me deep, difficult stuff, but you lie to me about the easy things. i know why, too. it’s because you know i already know those things. you think my belief is loose on the easy parts. i don’t know what the point of saying any of this is. you never listened. you never cared. you’re not going to change now. i guess i just want it off my chest and out of my head for some peace of mind. i miss you. it hurts me. it hurts me to know that the boy i miss is so far gone. i feel horrible for feeling these ways while austin is right there being so wonderful. being everything you weren’t. but i think it’s because, with austin, things are perfect. he loves me. he takes care of me. i do the same for him. but i tried to be everything austin is to me with you. you rejected it all. i don’t love you the same way i love him. i love you the same way he cares for me. there’s so much more to the love between me and austin. but in the most basic version. the version that relies solely on the care and compassion i’m shown, that’s how i love you. i know i should give up hope, and to be painfully honest, i have. but giving up hope does not make these feelings go away. i really, really wish it did, though.
don’t feel good at all. literally just want to feel loved and get stupid little love notes and fuck around and watch movies. i’m so stressed about going back to school tomorrow and about my body and i don’t feel good. i just want to be pet and i wanna watch movies and be held and fuck, man, i don’t know. i just don’t want to be doing this. i don’t want to wake up from nightmares and feel this sense that there is something in my room and it hates me or even worse, this feeling that there is no one. this feeling of isolation like the nightmares where i was raped were better than the cold room i’m in that feels no different from being strapped down on a cold operating table in a room with no one there. like a forgotten experiment but you’re filled with the anxiety of “when is it coming back? when are they coming back?” i want to wake up from nightmares and feel a warm voice tellinf me it’s okay. i don’t want to feel too scared to flip the tv on. i wish my converter box hadn’t broken. i want to wake up to strange sci-fi movies. i’ve been doing better lately, so why is my brain ganging up on me at every turn? why is my body falling apart worse? why am i in so much pain? why does that pain have to make its way to my mind too? isn’t it enough that my bones hurt and everything tastes and smells like blood? isn’t it enough that my organs hurt so fucking bad and nothing will stop it? isn’t it enough that i cry out for mercy? why does God hate me so? why does she want so bad to watch me suffer?? i don’t even think prozac would help. i’m not depressive. i don’t even feel depressed. i’m just so overwhelmed from all the fucking pain. i just want someone here to console me, but i know everyone has their own problems, too. i kinda wanna push everyone away because everyone’s been coming to me with their problems and i’m spending no time with myself doing the things i love. i’m just sitting around in case someone needs me. too scared to turn my phone off and knit or paint or watch a movie or enjoy myself. i really want a cigarette. smoking has been so frequent on my mind lately. it’s always been an excuse to breathe. to focus on myself. i think that’s why i liked it so much. it makes me mad i had to quit. not so much the fact i’m not smoking, but the fact it leads back to the thought of “there is something terribly wrong, and there is nothing i can do to fix it.” i can’t smoke because of the blood. smoking was relief. smoking was peace. time to myself. time with the spirits. now it’s gone and it’s my stupid fucking body’s fault. i want to feel better. more than anything i just want to feel consoled, though. i want compassion. i want loving arms. i want touch. i reach out and no one reaches back. i feel like the creation of adam. i used to do that with pat. i wonder if they ever caught on. everytime i went to leave, i reached out my arm. after a while, they reached out theirs. it was because i always felt this disconnect. i felt so far apart. i felt they didn’t actually care. they saw me as dirt, not as another person. i reached out because so badly, i wanted to feel someone there, but deep down, i knew i was reaching for someone who didn’t care. i’m kind of just writing what comes to mind. there’s no real moral here. no real rhyme or reason. just this feeling that time is ticking. this feeling i’ve got to get away. like when a cat knows it’s time is nearing so it runs under a porch and never comes back out. that’s how i feel. i don’t want to be, though. i want what everyone wants: i want to feel wanted. but i feel i don’t deserve that. that i can’t have that. so i feel like running. i’m just overwhelmed. i need a little extra love right now. i feel so fragile.
i find that i’m someone best left behind. not in everyone’s lives. certainly not in austin’s, i wouldn’t hope. not that i’d be mad if that happened to be. just letting him know that’s not what i mean at this present moment. i mean in the sense that i feel, for most, that i will represent the past. i will be remembered best locked in time. an odd fellow from high school. i’m past memories. i’m kids by MGMT. i’m earth to echo (2014). i don’t mean this in a somber way. i don’t mean this to put myself down. i just mean that i think i’d be better as a distant memory for most. a mysterious person who came and went. i was a monumental part of your formative years. i was the main supporting character. i’m tyler durden. i’m the bike camp kid. for a while, i was a very large part of your life. now, i’m someone you think back to from time to time. you go “i wonder how he’s doing,” and go back to your day. i am a moment’s pause. a brief escape from reality. i don’t think i’ll talk to many of my highschool friends when i leave. i don’t really want to keep in contact. i’d like to with austin, of course. i’d like to with kane, at least for their college years. but for a lot of people, i’d like to stay frozen in time. i think that’s the best way to memorialise me. “the one who got away.” stories that start with, “this guy i knew in highschool.” that brief pause to recollect. nostalgia incarnate. vintage polaroids in one’s mind. i think that’s how i’d like to be remembered to most. maybe that’s just more romanticisation of disappearing. i’m not sure. i just think i’d be a wonderful glimpse.
sometimes i get in these moods where i start to feel really off, but i still feel happy. all my emotions start to get really overexemplified. if i take advantage of that happiness and spend time with the people on my mind, i do fine! i do great even! if i don’t, i get in these really horrible moods, like right now. i feel like the way the last week of summer feels, but i feel like i’m spending that last week of summer with johnny and pat and dek. i feel like i’m watching the sunset with the knowledge that school starts back up again in a few days, but they’re there with me. they’re dancing and laughing and talking.. and they’re whispering. talking about me. telling me everything i’m supposed to me. i think this is a form of schizophrenic episode. i can hear them. i can feel their presence. i want to fucking drain my essence. i want to take my soul out and clean it. put it in a jar of formalin for a week. take it out and wash it in mint and roses. i feel like i’m gonna throw up. i have that kind of spiritual sickness that feels like radiation poisoning. the blood is back, too, which seems to confirm my hypothesis that it’s stress related and, most likely, a heart condition. i feel the same way listening to alrighty aphrodite does when when followed up by kids by MGMT then a day in the life. i feel hopelessly lonely. i feel lost in a small town at sunset outside of city limits, but not all that far. just far enough for downtown to be hidden. i feel the way it feels to be awake at 3:36 am and on your roof after another sleepless night. that cool spring breeze touching your face and lifting your hair, and that almost guilty knowledge that no one else is up. no one else knows you’re up. no one knows how you are. you haven’t talked to them in days. you’re honestly not sure if you should. it’s too late now. you just want to call, but if you called now they’d be mad. you’re thinking about that kid from bike camp all those years ago. where is he now? does he think of you? does it matter? i wonder if he’s dead. yeah, maybe he died. wait, didn’t you have his number? oh, oh yeah, you didn’t save it to your new phone. it was his ma’s number anyways. maybe you blocked him. why’d you do that? maybe he called you kurt. maybe you got scared. maybe you remembered he thought mental illness was made by the government and you panicked. maybe you never even got his phone number, but you’re sure you did. you saved him under that photo of kurt cobain with the pepsi shirt. but he doesn’t matter. he’s not even that important in your mind. you’re just distracting yourself. from what? the feelings? the fact you haven’t slept in days? the fact you don’t feel real? maybe. maybe maybe. probably the loneliness. the fear that all you are is a pathetic schizophrenic loser. even your dad thinks you’re gonna kill people. maybe it’s your fault.
my brain always feels like it’s swelled when i have these episodes. it feels large and swollen and painful. like it’s pushing against my eyes and my skull. like my head could just pop. i miss austin. i don’t feel like i can text him. i have this thing in my mind that keeps bubbling around. “let him have his alone time. you’ve spoke too much the past few weeks. he needs time. let him rest.” i don’t wanna talk about anything. i just wanna play sam & max on stream. i had all this motivation to do stuff earlier. now i feel the horrible. like i said earlier, the radiation poisoning. i think i’m just gonna work out then go to sleep. not really much of anything that i’d like to do. it feels worthless to stay up. it feels worthless to be here. i want to leave town. i want to stop feeling like this. i feel especially awful when i tell others i feel like this. i feel like i feel shitty too often. that i’m bringing others down. i feel like they all lie when they tell me otherwise. i genuinely have no fucking clue why people talk to me. i think things will get better when i’m not around this.
it’s been a while since i’ve actually posted something, eh? sorry about that. i mean, not really. i haven’t typed anything worthy of being published on here. i’m not doing good. i feel catatonic. did you know we no longer recognise paranoid schizophrenia or catatonic schizophrenia? yeah, it’s not a scientific diagnosis on account of how subject to change it is. you can be diagnosed paranoid then ten years later rediagnosed catatonic so they just stopped labelling them as well as the fact you can have multiple “types” of schizophrenia. i’ve got a bit of every type, but as of late catatonia has felt more prevalent. i’m still gonna consider myself a paranoid schizophrenic. it sounds cooler than just “i’m schizophrenic.” lately, this room has littered my mind. it’s a setting i invented so many years back. i must’ve been 11. maybe 12. a small room. a warmly lit room. it’s got a full sized bed. wooden. with tan sheets and a brown comforter, a duvet if you will, and one of those old, white pillows with the lace around them. there’s an out-of-date record player and an old tv on a nightstand. the walls are wallpapered with an odd, pale yellow and thin, thin white stripes. vertical white stripes. there’s a window. it’s two pieces that open out to both side. it’s higher than a normal window, but it has a deep ledge. there are thin, long sheer curtains. they’re pulled to the side and blowing ever which way. there’s a man there, in the windowsill, and he’s smoking a cigarette. it’s night time. and snowing outside. the man has stringy, greasy hair and is draped in a sweater that’s too big to do him much good keeping warm. there’s another man in the house. his voice is so gentle. the man by the window has a thousand mile stare. expressionless face, expressionless eyes, the only way you know he’s human is the way he smokes that cigarette like it’s a lifeline. shaky breathes and slow tears that look to have no origin. you’d think they were placed there the way he’s so still and unmoving. he’s cold. he’s really cold. he shakes ever so slightly. rapidly, but small little movements. discrete, but not intentionally. he’s off his meds. the other aforementioned man, he walks in on the scene. the windowsill man, he doesn’t move. he doesn’t seem to acknowledge the other presence in the room. but, the other one, he understands. he walks over and, ever-so-gently, places his hand under the man’s chin and gives him a small kiss. he tells him that it’s cold. that he should close the window and come to bed. that they don’t have to talk, but they can if he wants to. no judgement. no anger. just soft little words spoken ever so gently as his hand, once placed under the chin, moves to ash out the cigarette and close the windows, while the other moves swiftly to the quiet man’s hip to close the space between them and lead him away from the window and over to the bed where they can just sit and rest. no words. just quiet understanding. some days, like today, the thought just brings me to tears. i don’t feel good. i’d like to lay and listen to the rain with someone. i don’t want to talk. i haven’t wanted to talk lately. it’s seemed to have made some people upset, but just about everything i do upsets everyone somehow. i feel that sometimes people forget i’m still a child, but i also feel that i should grow up. i’m 17. i’m much too old to be using that as an excuse. i don’t feel 17. i, honestly, don’t really enjoy the thought of being that old. i feel like i don’t do things right. i just want to help people. i don’t like to see people hurt. i don’t want to see anybody hurt, but it feels like all my attempts to help only make things worse. i’m growing catatonic. austin is the only one i really feel much for anymore. i feel my emotions towards him have grown stronger and my emotions towards just about everyone else are so shot. i feel a sense of pride watching my young ones grow. my freshmen. they’re learning and growing as people. it’s so wonderful to see, but i can’t help but feel this sense of distance and spiritual sickness when i’m around most people. especially summers. i can stand kane, but i feel so far away. like i’m watching an episode of seinfeld while it’s being shot but from the monitor. i don’t feel like i belong here. i feel like i’m just passing through. i feel the same way you do driving through the tunnels by the gathering place in the middle of the night. flash industrial grey and now everything is black again and high powered lights illuminate the foliage and the electric factory’s gigantic sign across the river fills your peripheral flash right back to industrial grey. you’ll go through this three or five times. red and black and industrial lighting and grey and plants that, despite being native, feel so artificial and staged. i feel the same way ugly ending by best frenz would feel in a newer convertible on a november night while you drive downtown. high out of your mind on painkillers. i don’t feel good or bad. i just feel catatonic. there’s no other way i can describe it.
i wrote this about you in the walmart parking lot. i wanted to turn this into some hobo johnson-esque spoken word song but who knows if or when i’ll get around to that, and even if i do, who cares if it was here first
found a joint on the ground
picked it up and stuffed it in my pocket
i didn’t keep it, but for just a moment
it made me think of you
all the nights you never told me
smoking pot and drinking whiskey
drowning sorrows and blues yet to come
so often you created them
you decided you were shit and you’d never be better so you didn’t try
you had to go and destroy the one good thing in your life to fulfil your “woe is me” complex
what did korn not sound good enough unless i was your ex?
you didn’t just torment yourself
you said you’d go through hell with me but you dropped me off instead
reassuring ever issue you already knew i had
convincing yourself you would’ve done it anyway
you wouldn’t’ve you’re just a piece of shit who wants to justify their actions
i love you..
well, i loved you
you said you felt the same
but how could someone who loved me justify all that pain?
i should preface this by saying, this isn’t a suicide note. everytime i write one of these i get a lot of concerned dms asking if i’m alright. i am. i just wanted to write this because i don’t write about good things here often. i wanted to put it somewhere that i really love and cherish my friends. everyone in my server means so fucking much to me especially two people, whose names i’ll change for the sake of security, since i’m sure some people stalk this website. so this goes out to austin and summers (sorry for the straight people names guys but trust me they make sense.) yall mean so damn much to me. it’s because of yall that i’m starting to heal and that i’m able to get over things. if it weren’t for yall i’d be in a really bad state right now. yep, ohio. i’m joking, but i’d honestly be doing very bad. i probably would’ve let my illness overcome me and i’d be in [redacted] living homeless or something, but you’ve shown me things get better. AND THEY HAVE! i’m surrounded by wonderful people, things are getting better with my dad, i’m growing as a person. it’s crazy. i don’t think i’ve ever had an actual support system and to just have people around me that actually love and care for me without pretending? that’s fucking insane, so thank you. and thank you to all my other homies who are just there to joke and chill with me constantly. i’m so happy to have people around me who i can hang out with and feel comfortable being around. thank you all. i love all yall so much (especially austin and summers <33 yall have done so fucking much for me. you’re both such beautiful fucking people)
i just had an epiphany in the shower, and i realised something. i realised a lot of things actually. i feel a lot better. just because that dumbass isn’t gonna get better doesn’t mean i have to sit here feeling like shit. screw him. i realised something. i think i had a problem with winding up with abusive people because i demonised myself. society demonises a lot of the shit i am: schizophrenic, bipolar, gay, cisn’t, and some other shit here and there. i was born and raised to believe creatures like me were horrible, fucked up, evil people, so i just always hung around shitty people who indulged all the worst thoughts. i thought i wanted someone like me, but i didn’t even know who i was. i met a wonderful boy who’s everything i’ve always wanted, and i’d been sitting here thinking about how much he wasn’t like me and how he wasn’t right and i didn’t deserve him. he’s just fucking like me! it took one of my headhomies giving me a whole talk to make me realise how fucking stupid i was being. it’s not my fault i was abused. i’m not the problem, but i could avoid it. de pointed out how i look at the dahmer case. how i can pick it apart and be bewildered by the actions of dahmer allst while making the same mistakes. i can perfectly point out and help fix other people’s fuck ups then i’m oblivious when they align with mine. i’m not a shitty person, but if i keep believing i am i’m gonna miss all the good opportunities and become one. my destiny isn’t to die alone. i’m not fucked up and evil, i’m a teenage boy. i’m confused because of everything i think i’m supposed to be, when i should be following what i love and want to be. i think i can get over all of this, and i think i know what to do to get better. i feel good. i’m gonna get through all of this
i hope you know how much pain you put me though. i hope you understand that i can’t even take a fucking nap because the thought of you keeps me up. it’s going to take me so long to get over this because i actually fucking loved you. i don’t think you loved me. you never even cared enough to be honest. all i asked for was honesty. why’d you have to fucking hurt me like this?? i just want to get on with my life and appreciate the good, but you wont leave my head and it makes me feel sick. i don’t want to have to leave you behind. i don’t want to think about you in the past tense but goddamn did you hurt me, and you show no signs or desire of improvement. you deserve for this to haunt you
i don’t even have anything to say. i lie to everyone. i want to leave. no one cares about me, and i’m sick of only knowing this fucking town.
so things are bad enough again for me to use my website. i only really use this place when i have something to say and i want people to know it, but i don’t want people to be alarmed. by the time you see this it’ll be too late. not in the sense that i’ll have killed myself or anything, but in the sense it’ll be too late to care. no one ever comes here. no one EVER comes here often. people aren’t constantly checking my journal, desperate for a new post. anyways, nirvana was lowkey spittin when they made that song for beavis and butt-head. i feel like that right now. the person who’s supposed to be my safe person feels so far away. it’s not depression. i keep telling them it’s just depression. i don’t have the heart to tell them they gaslight me and treat me like my dad, so i never open up. i hide so much shit from them. it makes me feel dysphoric to do that. i don’t like hiding my emotions because i feel like it’s feminine to talk solely in double speak, but i also feel it’s feminine to even discuss emotions, so i just don’t. i have pretty severe trust issues too. can you blame me? maybe i’d tell them, but time and time again they break my trust. it’s not like they tell everyone what i said, it’s just that i dissect myself and let my guts spill on the floor only for it to be ignored. handed a broom a told to sweep up because guests will be here soon. my problems are treated as trivial, and my pain is seen as “just depression.” i’m not depressed. i don’t show signs of depression. is it really depression if the “depressive” thoughts have been fucking proven time and time again? i’m treated like a burden and looked at like that thing you have that you don’t want anyone (including yourself) to see, but for some sentimental reason you don’t just throw it out. there’s this girl i really like. i want to get close with her, but i don’t. i think she hates me. i don’t think she does, but i think she hates me, so i just don’t. even if she didn’t hate me, she would eventually. she’d think i’m weird or a freak or a pussy or a whiney little fag and she’d leave me like everyone else has. it sucks because i see her as so safe and i think of her as my best friend, but i doubt she’d think of me in the same sense. i could get close. maybe have one of the best friendships i could ever achieve, or i could stay away. only having the occasional conversation and saving her and myself. i don’t want to be a burden. i’d really like to leave. frankly, i’m getting the call to milwaukee again. not for horrible reasons this time. this time, just because i’m lonely. a part of me still loves him. it’s a pretty big part. it’s easier to love someone who doesn’t know you. someone you can create an image for in your head. i don’t think i’m ever going to adjust to “reality.” living in my head has always gotten me good enough. i wish they would stop treating me like a burden. i love them. maybe that’s my fault, but i love them. i want to be close, but being around them also makes me feel the same way i felt watching bojack for the first time high as a mfer staring at the ground from my rooftop. it’s not a way i like to feel. empty. terrified. vulnerable. aware. aware that what was happening was the wrong path. looking down and knowing things must’ve gone so horrible wrong for me to end up here. in this position. something that once was such a relief. felt so good. now a psychotic episode that i’m not sure how to stop. completely lost. i don’t know what day it is. i don’t know where everyone went. the ground looks so inviting, but i forgot my invitation. i’m not supposed to be at this party. it’s all wrong. it’s all a blur. i could still find safety in this place, but there’s no way to do that alone. and people are so fucking terrifying..
never always forever and never
descend with me into the january trees they’re as cold and insufferable as the month itself
descend with me into the dead autumn leaves the crunching wears down your sole until there’s only ashes
it’s not a time nor a place but you know where i go you know where i stay yet you will leave me here to rot
lay me down in the january trees and the crisp autumn leaves where it seems my mind is caught
you’ll never find my skull amongst the ruins nor my hair amongst the bugs physically i was never here at all i live inside the months
i am a time i am a place but i’m no where you can touch you’ll never see my face on your golden pocket watch
i am but a mere memory at that, i’m one you forgot you nalways find me among the trees in the autumn and january months
i hate realising someone doesn’t care about you as much as you care about them. that realisation that to them you’re simply a variable. this happened recently, of course. this person will remain nameless, but for the sake of simplicity, we will call them War. i’ve known War for a bit. at first i looked up to them, we ended up becoming friends. i began seeing them almost as a sibling. overtime, i saw the same problem popping into War’s vacinity. they had a bad problem with basically just treating people like shit. they seemed only talk about the future or the past. they live entirely too much in the past. they make future plans then get bored. they treat people like therapists, then when they’re done with them they move on. i really thought someone cared enough to be my friend. was it all lies? was this the intention the whole time?
fuck. one word. four letters. a variety of meanings. the one we’re using today is “fuck /fək/ exclamation used alone or as a noun or verb in various phrases to express annoyance, contempt, or impatience.” a one word phase. the best phrase i have to explain how i feel at the moment. it feels like everything is going to shit. it’s all rotting away around me, and i have no way to stop it. first, it’s the abandonment and alienation executed by War. then, it’s issues with my father. lastly, someone i had eyes on is now in a relationship. i feel the first and former are blantantly understandable but the second might need just a bit of context. i don’t get along amazingly with my father. over the years, we grew apart. why? because he doesn’t care about me. i am a mistake, a mentally ill, faggot, retard, and tranny of a mistake. i know the only reason he keeps me around or ever shows me attention is to keep up an image. that’s all i am for him. i’m an excuse, a figurine, and something to blame. somethings gone missing? must be kört's fault. somethings amiss? must be kört's fault. pissed off? take it out on kört. need an excuse? “oh well my kiddo-.” wanna look like a good person and a model citizen? bombard kört with photos and post them on various social medias with shitty captions like “spending time with the kid.” i fucking hate pictures. i hate he can’t take the time to use my proper pronouns stating bullshit like “well you’re MY daughter.” if you don’t shut that shit up i’ll be daddy’s little mess on the carpet and celling. ohhh, but he’s get a kick out of that. he’d get to “grieve.” he’d love the attention and the pity. he’d probably get with another weird whore. he’d find someone who he could yell at and blame everything on, a replacement kört. because after all, that’s all i am to everyone, an easily replaceable blame game/therapist/shoulder to cry on.
i feel like i exist on a higher plain. completely disconnected from the reality everyone else is a part of. i feel like the smoke of a cigarette while simultaneously feeling like water. i feel very slow, like time has no effect on me. i think a good way to describe how i feel is that weird period between christmas and new years. like 02:38 while it gently snows and you sit under a street lamp. alone. everyone else is asleep except those with insomnia and nothing better to do. like that cigarette you smoke completely recluse away from all distractions living in a moment that only exists in your mind since no one else is there to see it. the birds and insects are gone. it’s too cold for them now. so it’s just you. alone. in this huge world it feels like youre the only one awake. not in a bad way though. it’s not scary or dark or gloomy. it’s just a certain breed of calm you only get from that feeling that you know all but you also know nothing. you’re alone here and that’s alright. it’s a journey you must take alone because you’re the only true person in your own reality.
there’s a certain comfort in being alone sometimes. you become acutely aware of reality, while slowly drifting away from it all. i am a being that has always existed while never existing. i exist only in my own consciousness and so does the world around me. i am the only thing that matters as long as i believe i matter because at the end of the day nobody else exists. one day i will die and so will reality. i will cease to exist and seep back into a realm that will only exist inside my own soul. i take comfort in that. no one will be able to harm me then. i will be in the air on those december nights. i will be in the trees and the smoke from cigarettes. i will be time itself. i will be timeless.
i dont want to die, but i’m not scared of death either. when my time has finally come i’ll greet death with a handshake. i take pride in knowing one day i will cease to exist to the people who’ve known me. i will never truly die until i have been forgotten though. just a relic of a time now gone. i will exist only in photographs and any stories told by grandparents to grandchildren. i will become an urban legend..