Saturday, January 30, 2016

One Less, One More, Drama....

for every birth, there is eventually someone else’s masterful unraveling
for every accomplishment, there is another sinking into the depths of failure for the thousandth instance
for every young individual flourishing, there is an elder deteriorating
for every reaction, a counteraction, for everything, there is a unknowing response
for every breakage, someone unwittingly is strengthened by that elsewhere, and for every strength, someone is broken
to the point where the recipients cannot be told apart from the givers, and the blame is passed round dirtily until no one wants to touch its surfaces anymore that are caked with filth and scum, the infection, spreads
that infection is blame, that infection is embodied in blame, it’s all about blame to those who have to affirm for themselves everyday through insecurity, and yet, that is all of us.
human life, human lies, torches that so easily lose the flicker of their flame to the outerlying elements, and the underlying insecurities that consume, that hateful inward insecurity that rips us at our seams and tells us, that it’s okay to act so hateful, foolishly, pettily, if it means it’ll gratify us, even if it means demeaning others in the process.
let me out of this. let me out of humanity. let me stray from the imprisonment of my feelings, from the confined space of an underground cell, to where the air is no longer noxious and heavily cured by the sins of my predecessors and the sin of my past self, and the sins i still occasionally commit... let me be freed from the torments associated with being human. i envy the unfeeling, i envy the eternally happy animal who can keep facade up with every blow, and even after knowing hatred, can recover.
not so easily, are susceptible to the case of forgiveness, not so easily are humans swindled by the promises and promises of a brightened future, the idea that their love can be replenished by someone else. humans sometimes have no one else, and are forced to befriend the only thing they know to be closest, that being their minds, the deepest annals of their blackened and careless minds marked by forgetfulness and social ineptivity,
the lonely human is perhaps the specimen that is evidently the saddest collective of flaws that we know, trapped inside their mind, begging to be set free, begging for thread, when there’s no words left, when there’s no speaker on the other side of the frame, when the picture frame is charred in a purposeful arson, and the human reflectively howls in disappointment not realizing just what they’ve done, and that the picture, and the subject on the otherside, that companion who has stuck by for so long, through the severest and most drastic, is gone.
the remainder thinks they see a glint of hope in the rearview, an opaque mirage etched in flyaway sand that the wind blows opposite, over a shoulder, in the obscurest of places, there is always glinting hope....
but there’s nothing left.
there’s nothing left.
the frame has become an irreparably ashen pile, and they are left to salvage pieces, sell them for scrap, and forcibly move on despite the wounds left. because even the slightest interaction was perhaps enough to bring solace, in a manner that no mind would ever properly simulate
for some mutualism isn’t a reliable system. some simply cannot exist properly as friends. creatively, socially, generally. the hurt and the human feeling of ache trumps all the cards presented, it brings forth the worst, and just one mistake fucks shit up. for all parties, for all groups, for all. the first cut is the deepest, contrary to popular belief, and the cut sharply carved into the bobbing bones of the back by spontaneous omission is just even worse, with only partial awareness that it was even being done by the unidentified coconspirator, and the alleged instigator was unaware that they were even still going to be put under knife for old wounds, but clearly, the wounds recent enough to still make an impact
it’s not surprising that another person left your ass, honey, whispers a voice condescendingly
it’s a sign you need to learn to live with yourself.

two years after and i’m still occasionally spewing bullshit because i honestly fear i’m being spoken about with slanderous words behind the scenes everyday, and feel like i have to preemptively defend myself from things i see as being oncoming insults that actually NEVER FUCKING COME, but my MIND thinks ARE COMING, because why else would anyone not say anything to refute what my mind is screaming at me. i don’t know, maybe i should try, you know, saying it aloud, instead of letting my crazy brain drive me into a paranoid corner to the point where i have to spew venom when i truly feel threatened for no reason other than the fact that i’ve essentially convinced myself that i’m going to be ridiculed because of course that’s ALL THESE PEOPLE WANNA EVER DO TO YOU, THAT’S ALL THEY WILL EVER DO, 





Monday, January 25, 2016

I'm Fine

It's not perfect. I am in no ideal situation right now. I'm one step away from deleting it all entirely, my Skype and my blog, but then I realize how much time and work I would have wasted.

Last night, I tossed and turned, in a cold sweat, during what I assume is something nightmarish I can't even remember now. It's psychosomatic bullshit, it's a guilty ringing conscious, it's an ugly rearing of the head of my inner demon, in a laughing uproar.

"Yeah, you, you stupid bitch. You can't keep anything you have intact."

Thanks for reminding.

My entire body is psychosomaticly angry, honestly, I can feel it. the ache in my arms from a probable muscle pull have been emphasized by my stress. My chest heaves.  I ate something and now my stomach cinches. It makes sense, I guess. What I have pitted at the bottom of me is not a very nice feeling,

I will get over my stupid ass losses. I will pulverize the pain of them. I'm not just gonna sit here and make myself a bed of straw to set aflame, lol. I'm not gonna suffocate on smoke. Wahh, wahh, wahhh, shut the fuck up with that poor pitiful me banter, I'm not.

... underneath it all (popsci)

life is just a formality as i know it. it's just one pile of nothingness. i live, and i breathe, and i'm supposed to fuck, then i die. i don't want to procreate, so that's one item crossed off life's useless list.

it's one large contaminated vat of misunderstanding and loud brain jeering. i thought i was doing better, and then i spewed my venom at someone unnecessarily, i was a FUCKING BITCH, and that became exposed to someone else who i was actually connected to somehow, my last connection no less, and tonight, i broke because i lost her. i began weeping in my room, crying my fuckin' eyes out. my father inconveniently arrived at my room door and i couldn't hide things.

he said frankly, when out in the fifty degree weather, that i have difficulty understanding anything fundamentally about reading others, just as i literally have so little connection to myself after years of being ordered around to the point where i felt i was never allowed to establish an identity for my own.

the statement is unfortunately true and only emphasizes it. i heartachingly stagger into the feet of reality. such a statement would generally be used to describe some kind of psychotic.

butI am not. I am not. I'm just seemingly, unquestionably, and situationally, acting as a bad person again, and even though shit in my life is going down, it's inexcusable.

i cursed myself the day i lost my bipolar people meds and was too nerved to call in a fuckin' confession to the psychiatrist. but it's not about the goddamn meds. it's not about the goddamn circumstances behind it. My meds don't always determine or rule me. That's MY JOB. 

it's not about the fact that i was essentially environmentally exposed to and told that violence was somehow rightful, IT'S MY JOB TO NOT FOLLOW IN THE FOOTSTEPS OF MY PREDECESSORS.

it's about what I've done. IT'S ABOUT, WHAT I HAVE DONE.

I have jeered at popsci and treated them like a brain demon for some time now. To an extent, the only remainder of words that are left circulating in my head about this person are generally vulgar ones that have been horribly twisted from the originals to formats intending to tell me "you're being attacked, you're being attacked"- i only recently realized that they were barely even real words, just scraps fragmented and placed together to paint a hideous painting that i want to destroy.

that is not the real popsci, speaking to me in my mind, as much as I was hurt by what was actually said, and my interpretation of it. I have terrified the poor thing into reeling back in submission and wanting to hunker down and scream, based on what are fictional words and MY SCREAMING ABOUT THEM.

I am not overjoyed about whoever leaked this to the friend I ended up losing. I am not about to hunt her down, I will simply say this:

I do not sociopolitically agree with anything popsci churns out and I still think the gender that they?? align themselves with is questionable at worst, a farce at best. I am not up for any more inquires about those things, so do not ask me. Part of my annoyance with popsci is based on my abhorrence towards SJW types as a collective. That does not call for a demonization of a single person or even a collective. Namely it does not excuse harassing popsci.
Obviously, my annoyance with such simple things that are completely separate from personality and generally just not being an ASS, and they should not lead me to aimlessly cry, scream, yell, and do the equivalent of throw temper tantrums in the face of a highly vulnerable young person, no matter how emotionally affected I am at the time, or what in the past has been done. I was a piece of shit to do that.

Is anything we have highly strained? Yes. Yes it is, I have not had the balls to admit it, but I basically begged for them to come sauntering back into my life, and when i was ultimately met with rejection, I broke down completely and started spewing vomit left and right, I cried, I literally had panic attacks on my bed, and that was a gross dynamic. It was gross. It was gross. I do not know exactly how to phrase it. Overall, I was gross. They tried helping, at least, and put forth effort to understand my preexisting conditions. More than I could ever ask for, and that effort is still appreciated. that did not stop me from continually being an ass in the end, and I became erratic at every slight thing I perceived as offensive, and the dynamic became even worse, and probably cost me any minuscule trust left in the relationship. So essentially I did the equivalent of face spitting, and that is

My abominable behavior deservingly cost me a relationship that I spent time developing and trying to rebuild, in both cases. The second was by ommitance, which is still an embodiment of lying. neither of the circumstances at hand somehow stopped me from becoming an emotionally unhinged case, prior to screeching at popsci I'd slit up my legs for reasons I can't really even remember, something episodic, I'm sure, and wrongfully pinned that blame, on them, and not myself, for slitting myself up. It isn't your fault. It's nobody's fault but my own.

I did not lose my boyfriend because of you. He was a treacherous flake and we were doomed from the start. Kindly, but also just as unstable as I was underneath, and a workaholic to boot. It was not destined, and you were no part in him and I deciding to go separate ways. I twisted your words to suit my fantastical delusions and it worked for awhile. As much as I didn't appreciate being told I was a mental issue, it was honestly what I needed to hear. Symptomatic, raw, and dirty, at the time, that's what I was. I'm no pillar of health now. As you can see.

You are at no fault, despite all my qualms, my contained rage, and my hurt. My heart aches thinking of you, but that's not because of what you've done to me, or what you're doing to yourself, it is the ache of what could've been if I had not fucked up.

Grant me a second chance, shame on you, grant me a third, shame on me. Shame on me overall.

You don't have to pile the blame, and I want you to know-- I did care about you, and deep down, through all my spite, I still do. I don't know if what you are feeling or doing is well, or if you are happy, but I become worrisome, and even though your wording is not something I can read without the anxiety creeping up my spine... I cared. I really did.

And it was wrongful to try and convey to you any feelings, including the worse ones, in such a hurtful manner, when i was hellbent on getting you back, to try and regain your trust only to spew it back in the form of "YOU STONE COLD, EMOTIONLESS, AUTOMATON, BITCH". I was born with not much of an innate understanding of the underlying feelings of others, and I have to say that's one of my worse traits, and that's saying something. That did not excuse me completely disregarding your feelings and spitting them back in the form of my own highly twisted ones.

I swallow that rancid pride of mine, I come forth in my indignity, and I admit. I fucked up big. I didn't just fuck up, I was a bully. I was mean. I was crude, and I was unnecessarily mean to someone who I blamed for my problems individually as supposed to anything I DID. IT'S ALL MY FAULT, OKAY?

I'm sick of it. I'm just spurting bad blood everywhere, I can't even differentiate between whose blood it is anymore. I now have nothing left to confide in. Is this blog some kind of equivalent of my fuckin' diary? Sure. I guess it is. I guess it is. I guess now that I fucked up my last relationship tangibly it's time to go back to traditionally howling on my blog.

Girl who cried wolf, I'm not the fuckin' victim.

This is no longer a blame game. This is not a justification, this is just an admittance with a little harping in between. I am not faultless. I am a mess. I am maybe ten steps behind Nasujima, albeit in a different way, having to do with my emotional output. I cannot meld with my muse and take on that madness, and I sure as hell won't, and it's not him as much as me.

I lost Brandon, I lost popsci, I lost Aka, and long before that I lost myself. It is just a game of losses, and now I think I can honestly say I hold myself accountable. I am sorry for treating you, and in the past, others, as my personal punching bag. no one should be recepient to my vitriol aside from myself, on my own.

after two years you think, i would have known how to control myself, and overcome the screwed up normalization that used to plague my mind as a young teenager when i destroyed numerous pieces of property; smashing walls, smashing glass, ripping paper simply, but the honest to god truth is.... it's still not fully controllable. And who is to be held accountable for that other than myself. It's just me. It's meeee here, not you.

You scratched my back, you narrowly caught me and helped me avoid making a decision that could have ensured that I would not be here today, and I felt for the longest time that I had to repay you (scratch my back, and I'll scratch yours), and I never knew how after all miscommunications,  and yet, I was stranded between that and vindication somehow, because I felt you abandoned me. And frankly, it was the same thing that transpired between me and the others, back in 2014.

You can't be my friend, you can't be a relation, you cannot be anything. You are simply a figment of my past, and someone who I need to accept coexistence with, not abhor, not celebrate, just simply coexist alongside. If I cannot do that, I don't deserve to go back to the fandom rightfully.

This is my revival, and I will not let my own idiocy interrupt it. I fucked up, and I will overcome all if it means I can finally acheive peace with myself. The truth is that I rely too much on others for my satisfaction and that gets me nowhere. At one point I used to get off on hurting people, and it gave me power, and now I'm disgusted by waht I somehow still manage to end up doing occasionally when I should be doing it NEVER. I have changed, and I will continue to. I hit a roadblock by going back to an event two years ago and deciding to utilize such brutal, old, pathetic methods, bullying the worst among them.

I am rife with insecurity and live through characters with even worse personalities than my own to try and somehow push aside my flaws. I can no longer just sit here, however, and ignore what is glaringly in front of me. That I'm still so warped somehow two years after. It's surreal and occasional, what i do.... it's so wrongful.

You were a good friend in a short run, popsci, you were a good friend. I do not doubt your capacity as a person, even if you claimed you didn't consider us that. I hope one day you are able to come to secure terms with yourself, and I hope the same for myself. Please, be happy.

Regards, me.
Rattling, over.