So, that fucking fucker Pat has FINALLY finished that fucking novel that he was writing. Took him long enough. Anyone remember Pat? Good times, those times. I mean, besides how fucking awful they were for me mentally. I was fucked. But yeah. Pretty good times.
Oh yeah, I'm feeling a little bit profane. Why? Because fuck you. That's why.
Okay, fine, it's because I'm more than a little fucking annoyed at myself for getting myself involved in a certain situation that I don't care to talk about right now.
Theatrics! How else to stay sane?
When the world you built falls apart around you, you start to see that all that structure was just a set-piece, and that the life you lived was all just part of the script. You look up, and where once it was too bright to see, you notice the lights. You look down to see the edge of the stage, and beyond it the audience. They're watching you! They're waiting to see what you'll do!
This is something I'm kind-of curious about. I don't quite understand how sex could be loveless, not because I don't have sex with people that I don't love beforehand, but because I love the people I have sex with while I have sex with them.
Recently I've discovered just how intense my personal propensity for violence is; that horrid thrill that comes of bruising skin and tearing flesh brings me a joy unmatched by any form of sexual intimacy. Naturally, my horror at the idea of harming a person who doesn't wish to be harmed hasn't been at all diminished- but where I once thought myself completely incapable of violence, I find that I'm certainly quite capable and very, very willing.
I've been struggling with depression for years. Anyone who knows me knows that much. I've also been struggling with a past that haunts my every thought and consistently eats away at my mind. And worst, of late I've been struggling with mental health issues that have become so extreme that it's excruciatingly painful to be conscious.
Sometimes it's a labour to get out of bed every morning. Sometimes it's a labour to breathe. Anymore, it's always a labour to stay alive.
This is the real life.
This isn't fantasy.
Caught in a landslide; just can't escape from reality.
Close your eyes, look up to the skies and scream:
I'm just a poor boy! I get no sympathy!
It isn't easy-come, but easy-go,
your doubts are high, your hopes are low:
any way the wind blows, it doesn't really matter to the
Kidnapped the land
Put a gun up to our heads
said "No healthcare or they're dead".
life had just begun
to look a little better; now we say:
What the f*** is with you guys?!
As stated in the title, I'm planning on making a youtube channel on which I'll post various videos of myself talking about random crap. I'm curious if anyone has anything they think I should talk about. I'll be posting the link on the site once I've got it up. But yeah. Thanks.
Honestly, sometimes I feel more and more like jumping off of a building when I think about growing older. I'm terrified of losing the things I care for most. I want to live forever, but at the same time I'm horrified at the very idea of the people I love dying before me. I don't want to lose anything. Sometimes I'd really rather die.
And so another day passes.
My sort-of-lover is getting a house, which may mean we're going to see each other again. I also owe him money.
My other lover has been unfairly accused of harassment. I am trying hard not to learn who the syphilitic horse-monkey is that accused him, as if I knew, they would likely be sent a box full of fire-ants.
Still looking for a goddamn job; learned that a lot of banks are trans-friendly. Many fucks were whatted.
From: Perhaps We Shou...
To: Perhaps We Shou...
Subject: Re: I'm sending me a message
Date: 24 September, 2013 - 10:01am
HOH HOH HOH HO- *KABLAMMOOWIEBANGPOWZINGWHOOSHPOP*
> ONLY THE TWO! DOH HOH HOH HOH HOH HOH
> > BECAUSE WE HAVEN'T MADE ENOUGH HENSON REFERENCES IN THIS CONVERSATION! DOH HOH HOH HOH HOH HOH
> > > Let's take the Henson way out and blow this mothafucka of a conversation to high heaven!
> > > > I seriously don't know how to stop this conversation on a suitably comedic note.
> > > > > I'll say! DOH HOH HOH HOH HOH HOH
It's another case of me wondering what the hell is wrong with me that I'm so goddamn depressed and fucked up despite having such a goddamn perfect life, a goddamn perfect family, and goddamn perfect lovers.
The following story is based on a sleep-dep-induced hallucination of mine that brought on a small epiphany about the nature of life. It may contain triggers, as it involves self-mutilation. Please give your opinion if you read it and care to do so, I'd be interested in the criticism.
So I'm an adult now, getting an adult life and looking for an adult job so I can live in an adult apartment/trailer and go to an adult school so I can... what? So I can what?
Why am I doing all this?
Why am I still here?
This is so wrong.
So very fucking wrong.
What happened in Boston... shocked me. Jarred me. Disturbed me. Honestly, I haven't a good word for the feeling.