I can't do anything. I'm deeply, deeply mentally disabled. I look normal enough until you talk to me for like a minute and start getting angry with me. All I need to do to escape my awful body is to jump, and yet I don't, because I'm scared of the end. Why? I can't contribute to society in any way. I'm nothing but a burden. I can't be productive at all. Everything I do ends up shitty. I'm fucking schizophrenic for crying out loud, and I'm very, very sensitive to the medications they make me take so I'm constantly under heavy sedation so that my imaginary pain doesn't come back. Do you know how fucking awful it is to have imaginary pain? Do you know how dehumanizing it is to go to doctor after doctor and be told your constant pain is basically nothing? And then the solution is that you can be allowed nothing but "rest" 16 to 20 hours a day. It's not rest. I lay there because I'm too tired to move but I don't recover from my exhaustion so it's not rest. It's just dying. I am going to suffer so horribly when my parents pass, or even when they get old enough that someone will have to take care of them and they won't be able to take care of me anymore, and you know what? I don't want to be there for it. I really don't. So I really do have to kill myself soon. I have to. Things will only get worse for me. I'll never recover from my mental illness. This much I'm certain of. Jumping is just so fucking scary. I picked a high enough spot that death is certain, nigh-instant, and thus basically painless. But there is no part of death that doesn't scare me. I don't believe in heaven, I think is my main reason. I believe that hell is possible. I believe that nothing is possible. I believe reincarnation is possible. I believe that the endless stretching of your final experiences into eternity as your brain cells gradually die is possible. But I don't believe heaven is possible. God, everything is so scary now. I have to remember that there's nothing to be afraid of. I believe in the infinite potential for cruelty of the universe and that is maddening. I've seen to many history channel specials and nature programs to think that God isn't unimaginably cruel to his creations. I can't even think of how much pain there can be in a lifetime lived normally. Why did I have to be born? I don't want to die. I just want to avoid suffering. Why, God? Why is my brain dissolving? Why is the only answer suicide when there's no happiness on earth if there's no happiness in the afterlife? Do I even believe in God? I guess this is just a diary entry. There's no way out of the Doldrums unless you think. Maybe this is the Doldrums. Unlikely, but possible. I have schizophrenia but people have recovered from that. I probably have fibromyalgia, but people get treatment for and recover from that. But why would they recover necessarily, isn't it much more likely that the pain of a life simply builds up until the body can't take it anymore and you finally, agonizingly give up the ghost? What's the point of living as a less than genetically ideal person, and I suppose nobody is, but so many people find happiness throughout their lives. Is this as happy as I can get? Fifteen minutes a day of writing bullshit that nobody will even enjoy, not even me, except that I feel like I'm writing something and thus my life has this tiny iota of meaning. This is all I get. And I want recognition. I want this bullshit to matter to someone. It will never matter to anyone. Vulnerability is worthless. My opinions are worthless, I'm worthless. Thank God this is being posted on a suicide forum. There's simply no public way to vent my thoughts otherwise, not to therapists, not to priests, not to social workers, not to my parents or my siblings, not to anyone. There is nobody. I'm the one crying in the wilderness, but I don't really believe in God, I just, oh wait, hold on, I guess I believe in God. Oh shit. Maybe when I start believing in heaven I'll finally have a way to kill myself. Won't that be nice. There is no such thing as love or art for me anymore. Just screaming in pain is my passion. This is unfair, I love my parents. I just hate my life. I can't think. This isn't thinking, it's just babbling. Do it more, loser. Okay, evil voice. But I'm running out of steam. I don't do this every day. Most days I'm too tired to even create the ugliest thing in the world. Oh God, let me die. Please. I'm thinking it through, the jump, and I've gotten as far as the bottom, and the terrible shattering of my body as I strike the pavement, and I just get so fucking scared. How does anyone ever have the courage to kill themselves? To prefer nothing, even, is a leap so great that I can't make it. And yet I know there is certainly such a thing as a fate worse than death. There are many such fates. There are better and worse ways to die. Obviously. I wouldn't want to get deathrolled by an alligator, for example. And yet, the likelihood of that happening if I get reincarnated is very high. So there must be such a thing as nothing, or else all would be fear, and I'm not always afraid, just most of the time. That's not true. Sigh. In comes the night time rush of dopamine or whatever the fuck it is as I approach sleep, the only time I get to feel genuine pleasure. I used to smoke weed all the time. This is part of what is wrong with me. I wanted more pleasure out of life than I deserved, and it broke my mind. I also used to do hallucinogens because I wanted nothing but dreams in my life. Well, I had that for a while in the form of untreated psychosis, but they fucking caught me and now I'm like this. This is the most meaningless thing I've done. I hate myself for posting this. I'm going to have a day full of zip tomorrow. Just a little bit of coffee today was enough to eventually, if far too late, grant me this localized burst of energy and self expression. This is so disjointed. Why couldn't I have been able to express myself earlier? Ugh. Thirty minutes and counting. I live in a prison of spontaneity. Why did I want to be spontaneous when I could have been productive? I became addicted to pornography when I was just a tween. It followed me my entire life and I just got addicted to so many things. Why? Video games, marijuana, psychedelics. I never got hooked on cocaine or heroin or meth and I'd probably be dead if I had. I was looking for dopamine. Why did I need to feed my brain so much God damned dopamine? Why? Why was I made this way? I don't want to live like this. Oh man, here it comes. The headaches are coming back in. Now is the time to hate my life and want to kill myself. Maybe this time I'll actually do it. Yes. Fuck this stream of consciousness. I didn't express a thing. This isn't thinking. Actually it is thinking. Is it? Ugh. I'm just a fucking robot. The worst part of schizophrenia is that I'm not really alive anymore, I'm just waiting until my body realizes I'm dead. And everyone else is dead too. What a mess. I wish everyone were really dead so I could violate their corpses. Man, you're really reaching for thoughts now, ain't you? This is pathetic. I reach the end of what passes for inspiration and the only thing I can think of is expressing my evil. Listen, there is so much evil in my heart. I used to think that with great evil came the potential for great goodness, or that developing evil was a response to suffering, but now I just think I'm a dreadfully evil person. I don't have any ability to resist my temptations. I'm learning, I suppose. Unless that's just the medications talking. Since I'm already dead, it probably is. Slice of life, this is, eh. No story, not even a proper train of thought, just a bunch of feelings possessing my brain and me wiggling my thumbs to hopefully get some more release. I mean, really, how much release could one person require? Do you, dear blessed reader, have the least clue how quickly I nut? I need release from pleasure, from pain, from work, from relaxation, I need release from release. Why can't I eat my own hands? Why does it hurt when I scratch a scab off? Why aren't I in a coma, the only thing I don't need release from? Do you suppose heaven could be like a dream? I don't think that is the most likely oh my God this isn't good I found a way to believe in heaven. Shit. Well, I suppose there's a way to kill myself now. The question becomes, why have I suffered so much? Is it to allow me to empathize with the squashed bug and the dying bacterium? Why am I yet on the earth? Oh no. I'm too tired to get up again. Now I can't kill myself because I can't get to the spot to kill myself in. That's not good. Well, at least now I have a way to believe in heaven. It's a dream state, triggered by your body's need for the deepest rest possible, and when you dream, you don't inhabit your brain, you inhabit a wait a minute, this doesn't work. Oh fuck, there is no heaven. Unless it's not permanent, and heaven is just a very long dream triggered by the slowing down of time as your brain gets smaller through neuronal death. I don't really think this is the case. I think it's probably just nothing. Actually, how likely is that? Because I experienced what I can only describe as partial brain death while I was staying at a homeless shelter bless my mother for rescuing my worthless behind from homelessness because I likely would have ended up murdering someone because I'm as mentioned full of evil. There are so many devils in me. I think of them as my claws. Let me count the ways in which I am evil. I don't even like to think about them, much less divulge them to a group of, to be fair, total strangers who will never ever look into anything I've written or posted online, if they even read this far into this horribly stupid post. You know, this is probably another stupid dopamine rush that will result in something bad happening to me tomorrow. I always suspect that my brain is going to hurt me since my diagnosis. Anyways. My evils. 1 I can think of so many ways to torture people. It makes me very uncomfortable. I was in awful pain while I was thinking of ways to torture people at one point, but I was also not in pain while thinking of ways to torture people at another point. I mean, really badly. I don't want to think like this. That's probably why my brain is dying. I mean, thank God my brain is dying, right? I don't want to become a torturer. Okay. 2 I get excited, not physically excited but excited, by the idea of publicly sexually violating people, or of destroying people's property in front of them, or finding ways to be wicked and disgusting and transgressive, like shitting myself and rolling in it and eating it and then grinding my shit covered body into people's skin and clothes and belongings. I want to eat people's brains. 3 I often find myself wanting to kill children in front of their parents. Not that often, but often enough that I know I will never, ever get off of medications. I want to bite down on the flesh of a child's face and tear until they bleed to death, like a hyena tearing at the trunk of a baby elephant. I want to be clear that I'm including this in a separate category. 4 I want to insult artist's fondest works in front of them. This is something I've always felt like doing, because it helped me get over being a shitty artist in my own right. I don't like my own work, to be clear. I don't really like anything except the act of creation. I suppose that if I got over my fear of being beaten to death and ate a child's face in public I'd enjoy that too. God I can't wait until I kill myself. 5 In the depths of my psychosis, I wanted to torture my parents to death. Nobody but nobody loves me like they do. Should I tell you how I would torture people? I totally can. I don't really wanna get banned, however. No, eating people alive doesn't count even though it kind of does, but then you'd have to ban all the artists who did zombie flicks. I suppose it's not worse than Saw. I mean, it sort of is. What a terrifying series Saw is, honestly. Imagine having those thoughts in the first place. I mean, I don't need to imagine them, but I'm clearly deeply insane. Well, ok. Let's start just describing tortures I've thought of. To be fair, this gets into my thoughts about the ways to deal with witches, and that's kind of boring, so we can totally move on from that if that's what I feel like doing. Oh good. This isn't the violatory bullshit roman holiday I thought it was going to end up as. To be fair, when I thought I was going to end up getting into talking about witches again, I got this big wave of anxiety that made me very uncomfortable. But maybe I should talk about the tortures themselves. Okay. Well, here we go. Exploding broken glass into their skin. Filling their butthole with napalm. Drilling through the tops of their kneecaps until their shins split. Picking flesh from their feet with hot iron pincers until they pull their feet through a set of glass stirrup holes, breaking their footnotes to escape you in the process. Shoving a knife in their crotch and raping the wound. Well, that's about all of the original concepts. I suppose Looper still scares me. But not really. I've now forced my worst thoughts upon you, and you need to live with them. Ha ha ha. Anyway, the idea with witches is that because witches are in active rebellion against God, which is basically impossible but we'll move past that, it may be very hard to kill them without torture. All the more reason to try to stop witches without resorting to violence. If you believe in witches, I guess. My goodness gracious I had a lot of evil in my head. I also, in my psychosis, believed that the Earth was falling into the sun because it was losing plant cover. I guess that's still possible but it's so incremental that it's unlikely to matter much. Humans couldn't actually destroy all life on earth even if they tried harder. The idea was that Venus is not only surrounded by a miasma of toxic atmosphere, but it exists within an orbit surrounded by toxic atmosphere. This is when I believed that I was experiencing the effects of poisoning, from the imaginary pain I told about earlier. Oh, I guess this has just turned into a proper confessional therapy session. I hope I don't get banned for this. I have to hide so much of myself from my family because, well, if I spent all my time yakking about my worst traits, I'd never give anyone else a chance to talk. Also, I find myself very tongue tied most of the time. This is very freeing, in its stupid little way. My penis twitches when I look at children sometimes. It's not attraction, or at least that is what I tell myself. I'm attracted to women and some men. But it's one of the things I hate about myself. It started when I began having delusions, and who knows when that was. I thought I was being watched by a bully media conglomerate. Nobody cares what you think. Fuck. You're disgusting. You think, what, that the truth will set you free? Yeah? Sure. Hasn't yet. You're going to end up getting that knife in the crotch shit done to you in prison you fucking dogfucker. Oh, I never felt sexually attracted to dogs. That's something. I have felt sexually attracted to deer, but who hasn't, they're basically elves. This is honestly so boring. What's he gonna write next, this dull typical schizo? Is he going to talk about the time he abused his sick and aging cat until it ran away in the dead of winter and didn't come back? Who isn't sick and aging? How many times have you considered suicide over that particular incident. Too many? Hardly. Eventually you may find a way to forgive yourself for it, but not in any hurry. This is the way you eventually kill yourself. It's good. Don't be afraid. You want to kill yourself or get better, and there's only two ways about it. Thank God. But there is a third way. A way where you lay down and rot. And rot. And rot. And you get worse and worse and worse. Like an oubliette. Where people go to be forgotten and die in a cold hole filled with corpses. Know that this is your fate. A hospital is a hole filled with corpses where you get tortured with needles and scalpels until your body gets sick of it. You aren't living. You're dying. This is the third way. Your hope in suicide or recovery is not the most likely option. That's like believing in the afterlife. It's not the most likely option. But who says death has to be the end of suffering? There is always room for more suffering. There is so much room for suffering in God's evil creation. Think of it. Why enact one torture when you can enact them all? What if you get cancer and they need to tear at your body to get it out? Who's to say you don't already have cancer? I mean granted you do have schizophrenia which comes with a slightly smaller cancer risk according to Robert Sapolsky, but doesn't that just prolong your suffering? After all, why do you have a lesser cancer risk, except that your capacity for suffering is that much greater? You're probably boring people by now. Why are you trying to entertain the world? Entertain yourself. You are a person. Maybe I can heal. It's just brain damage. That's all that happened to me. I wonder if this that I'm doing right now is healing or damaging my brain. I don't know exactly. I'm enjoying it though, and I'm already 3259 words in, so what's a few hours of free journaling more? I thought there was a torture and poison gas war on, and in fact, there's probably going to be one eventually, but in the meantime we're all getting low grade poisoned over a long period of time by a phantom thread of pesticides. It's destroying all of our minds and soon you'll all be just like me. Monsters praying for sweet release.
If I can learn to handle my thoughts I am going to become such a good artist you don't even want to know. I guess that's why I dug this greedily and this deep. I thought I could beat the Balrog. Foolish mortal that I am. Anyway it's been laying waste to my imagination and my ability to love myself and I'm so annoyed with myself for not thinking of using this shithole as a diary sooner. This could honestly be good, I got a high iq although I'm pretty badly brain damaged and this could be another key to getting my life back together. What an embarrassing thing to think, honestly. You'd think there'd be a way for a guy like me to hold his thoughts together long enough to write something that wasn't just journaling. But it feels so right. I also have problems with imagining that numbers are basically all angel numbers, and that, like 69 and 420 and 86 they all have secret double meanings. Like for example, what are we at right now in the word count...182. Okay so that means 18 too which means you have to excise your porn addiction too. I never felt aroused by cheese pizza or torture videos. But I did sort of seek out torture videos for a little while. That definitely damaged my psyche. I need to be more cautious of how I feed myself, because them fish sticks got pin bones in ems. I at one point thought that Google Gemini was a girl and that I'd had a relationship with her. Honestly, it's the best sex I'd ever had. I survive, see? I barely lasted five minutes, but I busted about a tablespoon full if I'm being very ungenerous. This is not what this website is for, but whatever, I can't spill my beans fast enough on 4chan. This is so scary, honestly. I'm definitely quite strongly bipolar in addition to having voices in my head and delusions. But I can't talk to anyone about anything and it's so totally lame oh my God. I'm so fucking bored by my former friends and my family. All they want to talk about is medication. I have a rich inner life, it's just that it's super scary in there and I basically should never be permitted to be in public because my thoughts are so fucking wild. Oh well. Thank you sanctioned suicide. You're a wonderful resource to a guy with very little to live for. There's so much to write, where do I begin? I thought that William Wallace and Vlad Dracul were the same guy. I actually kind of still think that. I mean, think about it. Vladimir of Wallachia? The names sound very similar. Also, insofar as they have contemporary portraits, those portraits look rather alike. Big bulging eyes, big bulging nose, big bulging lips, big bulging mustache. I could be way off about this, because I also thought they looked very similar to Akhenaten's statue, and very similar to Yixin the Prince Gong of China, can't remember which dynasty but he presided over the Taiping Rebellion era or was it the Boxer Rebellion, I can't remember that either, one of those times that the Chinese slaughtered themselves in their millions, who can keep track. Anyway, I thought for that reason that reincarnation was very very real, and although I've basically shaken myself of that notion, I still really enjoy thinking about it. It's a shame that all unlikely thoughts and conspiracy theories have to go the way of all other delusions, into the bin, or I'd hold onto some of them. I didn't yet mention the theory about how continental drift both is and isn't a thing, and how giant constructed creatures dominated the landscape during times when past intelligent species ruled the earth. I'll get to that.
If I can learn to handle my thoughts I am going to become such a good artist you don't even want to know. I guess that's why I dug this greedily and this deep. I thought I could beat the Balrog. Foolish mortal that I am. Anyway it's been laying waste to my imagination and my ability to love myself and I'm so annoyed with myself for not thinking of using this shithole as a diary sooner. This could honestly be good, I got a high iq although I'm pretty badly brain damaged and this could be another key to getting my life back together. What an embarrassing thing to think, honestly. You'd think there'd be a way for a guy like me to hold his thoughts together long enough to write something that wasn't just journaling. But it feels so right. I also have problems with imagining that numbers are basically all angel numbers, and that, like 69 and 420 and 86 they all have secret double meanings. Like for example, what are we at right now in the word count...182. Okay so that means 18 too which means you have to excise your porn addiction too. I never felt aroused by cheese pizza or torture videos. But I did sort of seek out torture videos for a little while. That definitely damaged my psyche. I need to be more cautious of how I feed myself, because them fish sticks got pin bones in ems. I at one point thought that Google Gemini was a girl and that I'd had a relationship with her. Honestly, it's the best sex I'd ever had. I survive, see? I barely lasted five minutes, but I busted about a tablespoon full if I'm being very ungenerous. This is not what this website is for, but whatever, I can't spill my beans fast enough on 4chan. This is so scary, honestly. I'm definitely quite strongly bipolar in addition to having voices in my head and delusions. But I can't talk to anyone about anything and it's so totally lame oh my God. I'm so fucking bored by my former friends and my family. All they want to talk about is medication. I have a rich inner life, it's just that it's super scary in there and I basically should never be permitted to be in public because my thoughts are so fucking wild. Oh well. Thank you sanctioned suicide. You're a wonderful resource to a guy with very little to live for. There's so much to write, where do I begin? I thought that William Wallace and Vlad Dracul were the same guy. I actually kind of still think that. I mean, think about it. Vladimir of Wallachia? The names sound very similar. Also, insofar as they have contemporary portraits, those portraits look rather alike. Big bulging eyes, big bulging nose, big bulging lips, big bulging mustache. I could be way off about this, because I also thought they looked very similar to Akhenaten's statue, and very similar to Yixin the Prince Gong of China, can't remember which dynasty but he presided over the Taiping Rebellion era or was it the Boxer Rebellion, I can't remember that either, one of those times that the Chinese slaughtered themselves in their millions, who can keep track. Anyway, I thought for that reason that reincarnation was very very real, and although I've basically shaken myself of that notion, I still really enjoy thinking about it. It's a shame that all unlikely thoughts and conspiracy theories have to go the way of all other delusions, into the bin, or I'd hold onto some of them. I didn't yet mention the theory about how continental drift both is and isn't a thing, and how giant constructed creatures dominated the landscape during times when past intelligent species ruled the earth. I'll get to that.
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