Life Update–Rainy Days, melancholia, I suck at chess

No one on social media cares about me, and I don’t know why. This includes my real-life facebook friends.

I suck at chess. I keep losing because of stupid moves. Like not capturing a rook that stupidly went for a knight that was guarded by my bishop. So, just losing the knight, and worsening my position. Stupid stuff that would keep the game even or in my favor, I just bypass completely. And usually after enough stupid moves I get sick of it and just resign.

It’s raining pretty hard outside.  Not really hard, just somewhat. I have the window blinds open so I have a view out the window. My brother is playing Breath of the Wild on Switch (I so lost track of and no longer like the new Nintendo systems for the last two generations–no aesthetics. Gamecube was the shit. Wii was good but didn’t have any good games.).

I always feel like I have to go somewhere. I always feel the need to speak with someone. There’s no one to turn to. My WordPress persona is not a beloved one like some, like pretty words for ugly thoughts or mara eastern. I don’t know what differentiates me from them. They just get more likes than me. They’re loved, whereas I am not. That’s the difference, and it’s arbitrary. (If either of you guys are reading this, absolutely no offense or ill will intended. Just harmless jealousy–the superficial you-can-talk-about-it kind. No resentment.)

I have so much acne on my back. I wish vaping brought me joy. If it did, I would be set, because I do it all the time. Kratom is only for getting through the work day, I don’t know why I use it at home except out of habit and desperation for something to do. I had to beers so far. It’s 3:18. Arbitrary times are so artistic.

I haven’t read Pessoa in weeks. I just lost the desire to read. My mom doesn’t want me to increase my SSRI so I have to wait another week for this small dose to see if it has any effect before increasing. Stupid. The psychiatrist recommended the higher dose and I agree, but my mom is so coercive. She’s just a bad person.

Well, there. I told you about my life. Now tell me about yours. And then we can be friends.

This is never happening. My internet life is dead.


I overdosed on kratom and now I’m all dizzy and can’t drink anymore.

I have no home. I need this Lexapro to start working. I got a demo on my commute home. I was so relaxed. No edge. I never realize it because it’s always there, but life is one huge edge. It’s exhausting and panic-inducing, constantly.

Tonight, again, is not a good night. Because I can’t have the alcohol I need. You’d think my body would get used to getting used to not drinking after drinking semi-heavily the preceding days.

Because I’m at home, and my home is not a home. It is a non-home.

Because you’re all sending me negative energy. And I can tell, and I can feel it.

Because of spikes. Sharp, edges.

My Hairy Beast in the Rear View Mirror

I realized I may actually have the ability to put into words how I have been feeling the last six years, with more memory drawn from recent history (post-intense psychosis). So, here is a poem about my current (and improving) state of mind (I’m not including the improvement part because that is recent and when I resolved to write this poem I hadn’t yet improved, it was very recent, the improvement):


The black hairy thing in my mirror

I can hardly see it

It hurts me

Just being there

Sometimes it grabs me

And I feel pain

Maybe it’s a hug of love

I don’t know

It and I don’t talk

If it’s talking, I am so out of it that I can’t hear its words

In this alternate universe

In thought space

Where I am supposed to exist

In love, with this black hairy thing

I am the smallest trace of conscious

I hardly exist at all

My senses are so numb and dumbed down that

I can’t see, hear, taste anything at all

I should be interacting with the hairy beast

And loving every moment of it

But it hurts me

And knowing it’s there

And not knowing what it is

Subatomic particles conveying forces and fields are exchanged

Between me and it

Just like physics

And it makes me tense

And there is gravity in this space

I see that

But that’s about it

The truth is,

I’m addicted to work

It’s so bad, so bad, for me

But I can’t get enough

Of the stress

I’m never stressed

I’m just anxious

Of the hype

Nothing is hyped

Everything is dull and unrewarding

My efforts go into a black box

Never to be seen again

The black, hairy best

Feared, by me

Loving me (probably?)

Almost making contact with me

I’m just noticing it

And I need not be afraid

But that’s just my body’s reaction

I can’t control that

I can’t control it

It’s its own beast

So let me reiterate:

There’s a thing

It’s in my rear-view mirror

And it causes me pain

But I have deduced, logically, that it loves me

And I could still be wrong

Because I have so little information

Because my senses, in thought space, where this beast exists, are numb



And so.

I just want you to know,

I’m on my way

To knowing the monster behind me

It is supernatural

It is always there

It is anxiety

No comment on psychosis

How that intertwines and relates is beyond me

But the edge

I’ve got it figured out

I’m so smart

For figuring this out with so little information, sensorily

Because, because it is such a big deal to me

I have put so much effort into acknowledging this thing

That is always there

I think I’m done.

As a final note, my SSRI is kicking in, and I feel like I’m dreaming, and it feels nice, to be able to relax for once. It really takes the edge off. It’s only one week in so the effects should get even more pronounced for two more weeks. I’m gonna stay on this minimum dose for now. It might just be enough to push me over the edge… literally, over the edge, out of the edge, into a pit of fluffy pillows.