sugarb
long time sunshine
- Jun 14, 2024
- 128
Just rambling again. Or maybe I'm on to something this time! My train(s) of thought will arrive at one last conclusion, one unifying constant divine realization that'll stick with me forever. But probably not. Either way- long ass, crazy sounding post.
I feel like the inside of my head is perpetually storming. Raging winds intertwining and spiraling downwards forming twisters that tear at the earth, crackling lightning flashing overhead for infinitesimal moments, thunder exploding in near-time.
ADHD, obviously. Dunno if it's because I'm also autistic that my brain's so fucking wonky, but it probably didn't help. here's an example of how I think sometimes. I hate it.
Ex: Say I'm browsing some site and read a post title that goes "I hate men." A hundred trains of thought immediately either start their engines or diverge to the new topic. With every passing second those trains split apart into new ones, like cells multiplying:
Why would she say that? Well, it's true many women suffer due to men. Do they? Obviously so, there're statistics on this. I rack my brain- I think it's true. But there're plenty of statistics for all kinds of things, aren't there? Statistics can be wrong. Statistics aren't always cause for extreme positions. But then I consider- well, it's an exaggeration, obviously. She probably doesn't completely mean it. But can I be sure? What if she does? What, does she hate my sweet, funny, wonderful brother? What'd he do to her? What'd I do, anyway? Maybe I did do something. Someone exactly like me. Or maybe I know her and I did something. I probably didn't. If I did she might've been overreacting. Or maybe she had a truly horrible experience, like an abusive father. It's normal to be wary of a certain demographic after said demographic does something like that, isn't it? But it's still discriminatory. Or is it? Gender's a different factor than class or race or attractiveness or etc. I wonder if she's pretty. Maybe she was SA'd? I wonder what the statistics are for that. Can beauty even be measured? Why am I thinking about this? Why did I even assume the poster was a woman or assume the post was serious? Might've been written by a gay dude about how his relationships suck. Might've been a joke. I wonder if it was funny. Maybe I could write a joke about that. What would I even make it about? Come to think of it I don't have a punchline. And I doubt anyone would even like it. Would the target audience like it, maybe? Who would the audience even be? People who hate men? I wonder who actually, legitimately hates me for my gender in the world. Are they justified? They might be. Maybe I'm an oppressor. Or maybe not. What the fuck are you on, dude? At least you're trying to be empathetic. Is she trying to be empathetic? Am I, actually? Am I even capable of empathy? An empathetic person wouldn't think to judge another person for not being as kind as them. Thinking that makes you unkind, though. Fuck off. Maybe I treat my mother and female friends and my female cousin who I think I admired growing up like subhumans and never realized. Maybe I did, but I don't think so. Would it be justified to hate me if I did it without knowing? No. Yes. Would it be justified to hate Ted Bundy if he had a disorder that made him kill people? Yes. No. Maybe. Is that a thing? An unending clinical illness that makes you hurt people entirely not of your own volition? Maybe, I dunno. Am I bad person for having these thoughts? Or misogynistic? I don't know. So long as nothing comes of them it's ok, right? Or maybe it's not. Why do I keep spinning around and around and around and around and around and around faster and faster and faster, thoughts like water swirling down a billion and one drains that lead into pipes into four-way splits and eight-way splits into an ocean where I ask myself if anything is real and what real even means and then take a step back and find myself in front of God and he or she or it or they or what or when is so disappointed because I couldn't slow down and use my brain. Am I stupid or smart? Maybe I'm the smartest person ever. I got good grades, right? But idiots can do that. Are they idiots, though? Intelligence usually refers to how useful a person's brain is for society; art music culture science math politics technology military etc etc. That's what it's actually a metric for. Can you stop disassociating and acting like you're unique? I'm unique to myself. The only voice in my head is mine. Maybe it's the only voice in the world. I can't prove it. Why would I? Can you disprove reality via debate? Can you conceptualize reality not being real and then articulate the idea? Of course not. Why am I thinking about this again? Existential crisis for the fifth time today, Jesus Christ. Just click on the post and actually read what it's about before you start thinking about it all.
-but I never click on the post and nothing comes of it in any direction whatsoever because I imagined the post existing in the first place and the last ten seconds of scrambled thoughts were completely pointless to begin with. Then I start thinking about why I even imagined that in the first place and it starts again (it never actually stopped).
This happens with everything. Sometimes I feel like I'm the stupidest person in the world. Other times I feel like a god. A biologist and a single-celled organism can both clone a single-celled organism; both can see phytoplankton, perceive things a normal person can't. Maybe I'm an idiot and a genius and a crackhead with no crack and a frighteningly disassociated ticking timebomb. Do I need to destroy myself before I hurt myself? Do I need to kill myself before I kill someone? To die to escape the hurt the world throws on me?
Those don't feel right. Maybe even that feeling of "right" is a lie. Maybe my real reason for CTB is possessing a mind so hilariously divorced from typical functioning that things as human as breathing feel off. I occasionally feel I'm here solely as a test. But the fun kind, to a degree. I'm here to pass some sort of challenge- survive the difficulties until it's the right time to finish, and have fun along the way. Maybe morality gives me bonus points.
Even though I wrote like the example of my scattered, wackjob thoughts had ended, this piece of writing in it's entirety is Exhibit A. I must sound insane. Probably am. What consequences come from pressing "post thread"? This exactly 1400-word rant might be endearing, might be concerning, might offend, might give the wrong idea, might disgust or hurt. I don't know. Don't even know what I believe in any category of thought because of a thousand mile line of devil's advocates and counterpoints popping up. Why am I posting it, then, instead of confining it to my diary? I think maybe I'm curious about how people will respond. Looking for a conversational buzz. Or hopeful I'll read some response that magically quiets my brain. Doubtful.
During the brief periods in which the eye of the storm in my head encircles me- temporary, fleeting stillness- I sometimes catch a glimpse of Heaven, or my equivalent thereof. Musical climax and the sensation of warm rushing wind, rushing so fast my soul is sheered from it's prison and I become like the angels of the book I was taught, wild but kind and utterly whole, utterly free.
The glimpses aren't enough. Heaven is for the dead. I need a bullet in my temple to quiet the hurricane in my brain.
I feel like the inside of my head is perpetually storming. Raging winds intertwining and spiraling downwards forming twisters that tear at the earth, crackling lightning flashing overhead for infinitesimal moments, thunder exploding in near-time.
ADHD, obviously. Dunno if it's because I'm also autistic that my brain's so fucking wonky, but it probably didn't help. here's an example of how I think sometimes. I hate it.
Ex: Say I'm browsing some site and read a post title that goes "I hate men." A hundred trains of thought immediately either start their engines or diverge to the new topic. With every passing second those trains split apart into new ones, like cells multiplying:
Why would she say that? Well, it's true many women suffer due to men. Do they? Obviously so, there're statistics on this. I rack my brain- I think it's true. But there're plenty of statistics for all kinds of things, aren't there? Statistics can be wrong. Statistics aren't always cause for extreme positions. But then I consider- well, it's an exaggeration, obviously. She probably doesn't completely mean it. But can I be sure? What if she does? What, does she hate my sweet, funny, wonderful brother? What'd he do to her? What'd I do, anyway? Maybe I did do something. Someone exactly like me. Or maybe I know her and I did something. I probably didn't. If I did she might've been overreacting. Or maybe she had a truly horrible experience, like an abusive father. It's normal to be wary of a certain demographic after said demographic does something like that, isn't it? But it's still discriminatory. Or is it? Gender's a different factor than class or race or attractiveness or etc. I wonder if she's pretty. Maybe she was SA'd? I wonder what the statistics are for that. Can beauty even be measured? Why am I thinking about this? Why did I even assume the poster was a woman or assume the post was serious? Might've been written by a gay dude about how his relationships suck. Might've been a joke. I wonder if it was funny. Maybe I could write a joke about that. What would I even make it about? Come to think of it I don't have a punchline. And I doubt anyone would even like it. Would the target audience like it, maybe? Who would the audience even be? People who hate men? I wonder who actually, legitimately hates me for my gender in the world. Are they justified? They might be. Maybe I'm an oppressor. Or maybe not. What the fuck are you on, dude? At least you're trying to be empathetic. Is she trying to be empathetic? Am I, actually? Am I even capable of empathy? An empathetic person wouldn't think to judge another person for not being as kind as them. Thinking that makes you unkind, though. Fuck off. Maybe I treat my mother and female friends and my female cousin who I think I admired growing up like subhumans and never realized. Maybe I did, but I don't think so. Would it be justified to hate me if I did it without knowing? No. Yes. Would it be justified to hate Ted Bundy if he had a disorder that made him kill people? Yes. No. Maybe. Is that a thing? An unending clinical illness that makes you hurt people entirely not of your own volition? Maybe, I dunno. Am I bad person for having these thoughts? Or misogynistic? I don't know. So long as nothing comes of them it's ok, right? Or maybe it's not. Why do I keep spinning around and around and around and around and around and around faster and faster and faster, thoughts like water swirling down a billion and one drains that lead into pipes into four-way splits and eight-way splits into an ocean where I ask myself if anything is real and what real even means and then take a step back and find myself in front of God and he or she or it or they or what or when is so disappointed because I couldn't slow down and use my brain. Am I stupid or smart? Maybe I'm the smartest person ever. I got good grades, right? But idiots can do that. Are they idiots, though? Intelligence usually refers to how useful a person's brain is for society; art music culture science math politics technology military etc etc. That's what it's actually a metric for. Can you stop disassociating and acting like you're unique? I'm unique to myself. The only voice in my head is mine. Maybe it's the only voice in the world. I can't prove it. Why would I? Can you disprove reality via debate? Can you conceptualize reality not being real and then articulate the idea? Of course not. Why am I thinking about this again? Existential crisis for the fifth time today, Jesus Christ. Just click on the post and actually read what it's about before you start thinking about it all.
-but I never click on the post and nothing comes of it in any direction whatsoever because I imagined the post existing in the first place and the last ten seconds of scrambled thoughts were completely pointless to begin with. Then I start thinking about why I even imagined that in the first place and it starts again (it never actually stopped).
This happens with everything. Sometimes I feel like I'm the stupidest person in the world. Other times I feel like a god. A biologist and a single-celled organism can both clone a single-celled organism; both can see phytoplankton, perceive things a normal person can't. Maybe I'm an idiot and a genius and a crackhead with no crack and a frighteningly disassociated ticking timebomb. Do I need to destroy myself before I hurt myself? Do I need to kill myself before I kill someone? To die to escape the hurt the world throws on me?
Those don't feel right. Maybe even that feeling of "right" is a lie. Maybe my real reason for CTB is possessing a mind so hilariously divorced from typical functioning that things as human as breathing feel off. I occasionally feel I'm here solely as a test. But the fun kind, to a degree. I'm here to pass some sort of challenge- survive the difficulties until it's the right time to finish, and have fun along the way. Maybe morality gives me bonus points.
Even though I wrote like the example of my scattered, wackjob thoughts had ended, this piece of writing in it's entirety is Exhibit A. I must sound insane. Probably am. What consequences come from pressing "post thread"? This exactly 1400-word rant might be endearing, might be concerning, might offend, might give the wrong idea, might disgust or hurt. I don't know. Don't even know what I believe in any category of thought because of a thousand mile line of devil's advocates and counterpoints popping up. Why am I posting it, then, instead of confining it to my diary? I think maybe I'm curious about how people will respond. Looking for a conversational buzz. Or hopeful I'll read some response that magically quiets my brain. Doubtful.
During the brief periods in which the eye of the storm in my head encircles me- temporary, fleeting stillness- I sometimes catch a glimpse of Heaven, or my equivalent thereof. Musical climax and the sensation of warm rushing wind, rushing so fast my soul is sheered from it's prison and I become like the angels of the book I was taught, wild but kind and utterly whole, utterly free.
The glimpses aren't enough. Heaven is for the dead. I need a bullet in my temple to quiet the hurricane in my brain.
I appreciate being a quick thinker and creative if nothing else
