Monet
;; ♡
- Dec 22, 2025
- 1
Hello, everyone.
I request only mature site members read this, as it discusses some unseemly topics, and I would rather not anyone underage read or discuss the following issues that permeate my life. I would never dream of my personal experiences written about in this post influencing some form of hopelessness or despair in such young lives, and at best, I would sincerely hope nobody views this post at all. I just wish to organize a collection of my life thus far, and just talk to some void audience.
I cannot remember anything before age thirteen. What I do remember is highly convoluted, and not to be trusted, because I cannot tell between the reality of my experiences and those imagined. You can use this as a word of caution.
I am a twin girl, and I genuinely believe I was formed with some form of parasitic attachment rather than a miraculous creation of life. My twin sister was born easily from my mother, she lay quietly in the cot while my mother labored extensively for hours to deliver me. In the end, the doctors had to cut my mother's stomach open while she lay aware and awake, and lay her intestines on the table next to that plastic hospital bed, I had to be torn from the womb violently, displacing my mother's organs, and leaving her with a long scar extending from each side of her waist. From this very traumatic and exhaustive beginning, I felt I was misplaced. My sister is a beautiful, talented girl. I am proud of her, endlessly, the day she was born, she knew what she wanted from life. What she loved, who she wanted to be, the way of which to navigate the world and its complexities. It feels like I never grew at all. Nearly two decades I have spent on the earth and I still don't know what misshapen form my life is taking. Who or what I am. I am this selfish, consuming, melancholic tumor that grows each passing year. And I dread the month I am no longer a teenage girl.
The memories of my childhood are brief glimpses and sensations. But over the years, my senses have dulled. I can no longer smell the sweet, mellow, and lingering of flowers because of my diagnosis of Covid 19, my eyesight is going, my love of touch and tastes are yet to follow. I feel bleary, disoriented, confused, and disassociated from all forms of human pleasures, experiences, and emotions. I am like a blind, limp animal dragging itself throughout an endless forest, with the twigs and thorns scratching, licking up any edible debris I can find, and delaying the eventual, unavoidable certainty of my demise. Sometimes the stability of my reality starts to crumble, I feel as though days, weeks, months, and years repeat themselves endlessly, as do people, and sensations, and pleasures.
I do not grow, I am stunted developmentally. My pain is constant, measured, and ebbing. Some nights I wake in the midst of my half-dreaming state and realize it does not differ from my day-to-day perceptions. I feel greatly unaware of my surroundings, my own state of mind, and even acknowledgment of others around me. The possibility of the person I am staring at, being one of their own consciousness, consequences to their actions, their emotions, their experiences, feels foreign to me. I cannot imagine the experience of a life expansive and convoluted outside of my own, beyond their coded, scripted existence as I am perceiving them now.
I am not even certain permanent death is what I'm seeking. A part of me hopes for the possibility of reincarnation after death, I long for the sensations I have lost. I long for a beautiful and happy life. I long for the excitement, pleasures and pains, the recognition of a long life lived well. I long to grow old, to fall in love with my boyfriend again and again, to eat meals with lifelong companions, I'll outgrow versions of myself, I'll see sunsets, I'll feel the cold on my face and remember what it feels to be alive, but I won't achieve that in this life.
I long for a beautiful, ritualistic death. I will wake up, wash my face, apply my makeup, wear beautiful clothes. I will apply each layer slowly and with precision, appreciating every last gesture of compassion toward myself. Like a wedding ceremony, each action and preparation will be carried out will upmost care, to make the moment as kind and as beautiful as possible. I will eat my favorite meal, I will kiss my little sister goodbye, I will feed my cats for the final time, and my final words will be left on top of my made bed for whoever it may concern. I will take slow, quiet steps into the winter frost. I will count each breath as I walk and immerse myself in each passing stone. I will take my journey far into difficult hiking trails beyond accessible reach. I will find a clearing that has a view over my previous home and there I will curl up in the snow and fall, slowly and steadily into an everlasting rest. I find great happiness and relief in planning each detail, how everything will be done. And take great comfort in knowing that all my debts have been forgiven, all dues paid, and all roads leading to this kind end. And I will simply fade as though I were never here, and I will be guided towards where I was always meant to be.
I request only mature site members read this, as it discusses some unseemly topics, and I would rather not anyone underage read or discuss the following issues that permeate my life. I would never dream of my personal experiences written about in this post influencing some form of hopelessness or despair in such young lives, and at best, I would sincerely hope nobody views this post at all. I just wish to organize a collection of my life thus far, and just talk to some void audience.
I cannot remember anything before age thirteen. What I do remember is highly convoluted, and not to be trusted, because I cannot tell between the reality of my experiences and those imagined. You can use this as a word of caution.
I am a twin girl, and I genuinely believe I was formed with some form of parasitic attachment rather than a miraculous creation of life. My twin sister was born easily from my mother, she lay quietly in the cot while my mother labored extensively for hours to deliver me. In the end, the doctors had to cut my mother's stomach open while she lay aware and awake, and lay her intestines on the table next to that plastic hospital bed, I had to be torn from the womb violently, displacing my mother's organs, and leaving her with a long scar extending from each side of her waist. From this very traumatic and exhaustive beginning, I felt I was misplaced. My sister is a beautiful, talented girl. I am proud of her, endlessly, the day she was born, she knew what she wanted from life. What she loved, who she wanted to be, the way of which to navigate the world and its complexities. It feels like I never grew at all. Nearly two decades I have spent on the earth and I still don't know what misshapen form my life is taking. Who or what I am. I am this selfish, consuming, melancholic tumor that grows each passing year. And I dread the month I am no longer a teenage girl.
The memories of my childhood are brief glimpses and sensations. But over the years, my senses have dulled. I can no longer smell the sweet, mellow, and lingering of flowers because of my diagnosis of Covid 19, my eyesight is going, my love of touch and tastes are yet to follow. I feel bleary, disoriented, confused, and disassociated from all forms of human pleasures, experiences, and emotions. I am like a blind, limp animal dragging itself throughout an endless forest, with the twigs and thorns scratching, licking up any edible debris I can find, and delaying the eventual, unavoidable certainty of my demise. Sometimes the stability of my reality starts to crumble, I feel as though days, weeks, months, and years repeat themselves endlessly, as do people, and sensations, and pleasures.
I do not grow, I am stunted developmentally. My pain is constant, measured, and ebbing. Some nights I wake in the midst of my half-dreaming state and realize it does not differ from my day-to-day perceptions. I feel greatly unaware of my surroundings, my own state of mind, and even acknowledgment of others around me. The possibility of the person I am staring at, being one of their own consciousness, consequences to their actions, their emotions, their experiences, feels foreign to me. I cannot imagine the experience of a life expansive and convoluted outside of my own, beyond their coded, scripted existence as I am perceiving them now.
I am not even certain permanent death is what I'm seeking. A part of me hopes for the possibility of reincarnation after death, I long for the sensations I have lost. I long for a beautiful and happy life. I long for the excitement, pleasures and pains, the recognition of a long life lived well. I long to grow old, to fall in love with my boyfriend again and again, to eat meals with lifelong companions, I'll outgrow versions of myself, I'll see sunsets, I'll feel the cold on my face and remember what it feels to be alive, but I won't achieve that in this life.
I long for a beautiful, ritualistic death. I will wake up, wash my face, apply my makeup, wear beautiful clothes. I will apply each layer slowly and with precision, appreciating every last gesture of compassion toward myself. Like a wedding ceremony, each action and preparation will be carried out will upmost care, to make the moment as kind and as beautiful as possible. I will eat my favorite meal, I will kiss my little sister goodbye, I will feed my cats for the final time, and my final words will be left on top of my made bed for whoever it may concern. I will take slow, quiet steps into the winter frost. I will count each breath as I walk and immerse myself in each passing stone. I will take my journey far into difficult hiking trails beyond accessible reach. I will find a clearing that has a view over my previous home and there I will curl up in the snow and fall, slowly and steadily into an everlasting rest. I find great happiness and relief in planning each detail, how everything will be done. And take great comfort in knowing that all my debts have been forgiven, all dues paid, and all roads leading to this kind end. And I will simply fade as though I were never here, and I will be guided towards where I was always meant to be.
