Too long to screenshot:
I hate how my psychosis has made me think/look for clues about how my ex is living as if something odd in my life is insight into what’s happening to her. Like some pornstars botched boob job is actually a reference to her own ordeals with plastic surgery, something I could never know unless she told me, and yet, due to the law of synchronicity or some shit, it has to relate to her, because it couldn’t just be a one off in the media I consume. Hate it.
Whomever you are the voices make you sound horrible and absolutely fucking disgusting
Why does this small part of myself exist?
Why does it make it seem like any other love would be mundane?
Why can’t I just believe the words she wrote and write her off as some brain damaged racist?
Of course, perhaps this would be more manageable without voices in my head, constantly bringing her up, but I have that too.
Only a few seconds ago a CNN article came up about Ghosting.
I’ll share the title, and the most obvious, and yet should be followed, excerpt:
Every now and then I go
“no, she’s living her best life, with her child and her husband and it’s just you losing your mind on the internet for everyone to see”
The voices say otherwise, but I have no proof.
I’m living in two different realities
Split between dimensions
Worlds
Timelines
Between Hope and Despair
https://www.instagram.com/reel/C7hqPDku0E7/?igsh=d2N6aHhydGVvZ21l
Is your “not talking” a reference to “The Little Mermaid” ..? Maybe the original Danish version or the Disney version idk the Danish Version
I think it’s physically impossible to hate you
I have too much love
Is this that tarot reading?
Is this
Are you
My weakness?
How many times do I go to heaven thinking about being around you.
How often can I just lose myself in delusion.
No matter how much I harden my heart.
It melts.
Maybe this is why love is in my future…
https://www.instagram.com/reel/C-xc511Obni/?igsh=MTQxbjVlb3I0cTVjNQ==
Voices say a lot of things…
One new script is that “you are abstaining from talking to me because you don’t want anything to come between us.”
I honestly wish I could believe something as sweet as that.
Something that gives me hope that I’ll be with you again.
Because like it or not,
willfully or not,
in some twisted, delusional way, I am with you.
And I’m in the part of the relationship where the honeymoon phase is over, but every now and then, on date nights, or whatever, the spark gets rekindled.
At least for me.
I think of the Gorillaz Lyrics for the song “Clint Eastwood” and the lyric goes “And remember that it’s all in your head.”
And I wonder if somehow, I’ve been missing all of these subliminal messages growing up telling me about the effects of drugs and alcohol or hallucinations that feel like reality have always been some internal play, waiting for its curtain call, to start it’s first act as soon as you partake in the illicit substance.
It’s not like it’s methamphetamine psychosis, but it’s psychosis all the same.
But to echo that lyrics “it’s all in my head” I’m the slow E.T. “Kleeborp” form the Robot Chicken Skit, always have been.
Like all things, there’s greater context to one iteration of it, here’s the best hits of E.T. some, if not most, I cannot relate to:
To wrap things up, because I lost my train of thought after watching all that, I just feel stupid.
I know I’ve loved you.
I don’t know if I still Love you.
I’m willing to try again.
I feel like I shouldn’t be so willing to just jump into that fire.
Moving on sucks.
Waiting sucks.
Being out of shape sucks.
Working out sucks.
I wish I never had this burden at all, and yet, it remains.
Edit: This Song-
Yesterday everyone kept asking me what was wrong.
That I looked sad.
Preoccupied.
I thought they had found my twitter, or this blog, but they never brought it up.
But preoccupied seems like an understatement.
You’re in my head everyday, even if it isn’t you, it’s “you adjacent.”
Things have been better, I have an easier time focusing than before, but I hate that I had to harden my heart to get here.
I caught myself wondering what it is I did wrong.
What did or didn’t I say?
Why couldn’t we have just been a teenage “it” couple in this city, and I’d have my career in teaching, or something else.
You were my motivation.
Taking care of us, was my motivation.
But now I’m some crazy internet stalker, buying books and comics in Norwegian just to take a shot at translating them to peer into what rhetoric would make you such a hermit.
The world at your finger tips and you don’t partake? Or maybe you do and I’m just not privy to it.
I hate all of this.
How I feel.
Myself.
You.
How I feel about you.
It’s the worst.
and sooner or later the love bug will bite me and I start the cycle all over again.
Ugh.
Forget Banksy: https://www.instagram.com/reel/C7hp1XRSQfH/?igsh=cDBkNHVxaTV4ZXZw
This guy is open and honest about his panic attacks on Live TV. Voices are saying since you sold me out to, Australia I guess, cause that’s where you want to be, this is a reflection of me and my Twitter, except for the fact that I am American.
https://www.instagram.com/reel/C-qpgUzSq_U/?igsh=MWZ4dHZ3NXRrYmpqNw==
I’m not mad or anything, but if you can’t tell me yourself what you’re doing with your life, I think I’d rather not learn, if I am learning, like this.
I keep seeing us together as a loving couple.
I’m kind in patient I’m generous.
You’re stroking my short haired scalp.
We’re together we make love.
We go on dates.
I don’t know where or how we live.
The voices interrupt and say it’ll never happen, but these visions persist.
I got high by accident last night and it felt like the voices were telling me everything that was, is and wouldn’t be.
It felt like a final revelation, but here they are again to lady to reinforce your disdain or love or the opposite of me.
I’m beyond pain and heartache.
I’m beyond being distressed.
I know I want to move past this and honor the next love in my life, but there are obstacles, including this, that are in the way.
I feel like I can see that clearly, even if it’s the only thing that I see clearly.
And while I work on myself I just want my past self, or whatever virus that infects my mind with you to know that I am, and always will be, and have always been sincere.
That’s why I didn’t pull any punches.
That’s why I committed my “crime of passion.”
That’s why I wanted you to know what my life plans are and maybe, even if you don’t want to be with me, you could replicate it for yourself.
Because if you are teaching your child to smear and eat their own or someone else’s feces, I doubt you’d be raising her for long.
And if you did commit social suicide from everyone but the office in which you are employed, and are still “contently unimpressive” or whatever new secret blog name you have, what could you be spending money on?
Travel?
What is a luxury for you?
Chocolate?
I feel like it’s obvious you could put all that hard earned money to better use.
To work for you.
And if you are just living until your disease becomes unbearable, if you are actually afflicted with a degenerative bone disease, and what ever brain damage you might have, then it’s all for naught anyway, and you will commit suicide in some fashion, more than you already have in its own, metaphorical aspects, and end you life with a whimper.
That, does make me feel sad.
Only because I think, I hope that we could have been better, as a couple.
Together.
At my job, we have a new resident.
His wife had a stroke and he pushes her around in a wheelchair from time to time, with no lack of love.
I see myself in that.
That’s all I see.
It keeps going on and on and on…
Idk what you have to do with “Rap Music” but these voices are loosely associated with you, somehow
